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a poem about christmasChristmas
It was night before Christmas,
But I was feeling restless.
Santa's not coming
and he won't be summing
up his children's list
because something's a-miss.
Santa's not dead,
and I'm awake in my bed.
I'm awake because
I've found out that santa clause
isn't real and my presents
come from my parents.
And now I'm sad because santa
is gone and my parents drink fanta,
and now that I know,
now even the snow,
will cheer me up from this state of sadness.
Stuck The car sputtered and shook as it came to an almost silent stop. The engine had gone silent as the horn beeped loudly through the dark night. The orange gas light blinked mockingly at the woman behind the wheel. It was making fun of her; she knew it was making fun of her. Grabbing the black cellular phone on the passenger seat, she looked at it with full intention of calling somebody to come help her.
“Oh, what the hell?!”
The “no service” sign was mocking her at the same exact time. The horn beeped loudly as she slammed her head against it once again. The day was out to get her in general. She had arrived at all her classes late, and her son was sick with the flu. The babysitter was able to watch him as she went to her late night classes. Giving a heavy sigh, she lifted her head off the wheel to look out the window. Drops of water pooled on the windshield as rain started to fall in a pitter-patter pattern. She didn’t quite understand the message th
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