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Matt Jul 14
The snow falls thick outside,
its quiet weight presses against the windows.
Let it snow, let it snow
but the cold feels heavier this year.

The fire crackles softly,
but it can’t quite chase the shadows away.
The tree stands tall,
but its lights seem dim,
flickering faintly like memories
too distant to reach.

Silent night
but the silence has a weight to it,
a hum that fills the room,
reminding you that stillness doesn’t mean peace.

The room is warm,
yet it feels like something is missing,
a hollow that the carol of the bells can’t fill.
We sit together,
but the distance between us stretches
like the snow gathering outside,
quiet and inevitable.
an interpretation of the popular Christmas song which incorporates references to other songs
Matt Jul 14
The snow falls quietly,
a thousand small promises,
each one different,
but all landing in the same place.
They rest on our noses,
soft as the moments we’ve shared,
melting away before they can be held.

There is something in the air tonight—
not the cold,
but a warmth that hides beneath the chill,
like the space between breaths,
where words are not needed
but understood.

You are the stillness of the evening,
the way the world quiets itself,
not because it must,
but because it knows.
I watch the snow settle around us,
each flake a kiss on the skin,
a touch that stays only long enough
to remind us
how fragile and perfect this is.

The light from the windows spills out,
but it’s not the glow of Christmas
that warms the space.
It’s the quiet love we’ve carved here—
not in gifts or decorations,
but in the way we exist,
like snowflakes in the dark,
falling,
slowly drifting,
landing softly in the snow.
i like snowflakes
Matt Jul 14
The tree stands in the corner, vibrant and full,
its needles still bright, though winter presses close.
There is joy in the room, but it feels stretched thin,
the space between smiles a little wider than it should be.
The fireplace crackles, but its warmth cannot erase
the coldness that lingers in corners of the heart,
memories too heavy to hide beneath the cheer.

You watch as others unwrap their joy,
but the wrapping paper feels thin,
the ribbons untied, the colors muted.
There is laughter, but it tastes of something sour—
the kind of laughter that echoes too loud
because it is hiding something you don’t want to speak.

Christmas is supposed to be light,
but this year it feels like a burden
draped in tinsel, asking you to carry it
as if you don’t already have enough weight
in your hands.
Matt Jul 14
The first crackle of wrapping paper,
The soft whisper of breath against frosted glass,
A sudden knock—unexpected, warm.
Outside, the streetlight hums a distant song,
A quiet symphony of distant footsteps
and the rhythm of snow, settling in stillness.

The faint jingle of sleigh bells,
carried by the wind, brushing past
the voices of strangers weaving through the night.
Inside, laughter hovers, thick and gentle—
a fire crackles, wood splitting in the hearth,
its hiss a companion to the silence that follows.

Each sound is part of a moment,
one after another, fleeting and eternal.
The world outside swells with life,
but here, in this room, the sounds fold
into a quiet lullaby we only half-hear.
Christmas is such a poetic time.
Matt Jul 14
A snowman stood tall in the yard,
His scarf and his hat were both starred,
The children would play,
On that cold, festive day,
As Christmas arrived unbarred

The carolers sang with delight,
Their voices rang out through the night,
With joy in the air,
And warmth everywhere,
It was truly a magical sight.

The trees sparkled under the glow,
The world wrapped in winter’s soft snow,
The kids ran and cheered,
The season appeared,
And the fire in the hearth burned low.

But the sun rose more sharply each day,
The cold slowly started to sway,
He felt in his frame,
A loss he could name,
As the chill slipped away with the gray.

He knew his time was nearly through,
As the world changed from white to blue,
With a soft, final sigh,
He whispered, “Goodbye,”
And accepted the warm winds that grew.
I usually don't rhyme in my poems, but when I do, it is usually to signify bliss, or happiness. This poem is a limerick, which is something I haven't dabbled in much, but I really enjoyed writing it.
Matt Jul 14
Denial
The news breaks
The words come,
but they slide off my skin
like rain on a window.
I keep moving,
setting the table, watering the plants,
as if the world hasn’t fractured
in a way I can’t unsee.

Anger
The air feels sharp,
each breath jagged,
and I want to break something.
The cups in the cupboard tremble,
my fingers curl into fists.
Why this?
Why now?
Why me?

Bargaining
In the quiet, I begin to bargain,
with gods I don’t believe in,
with time that won’t listen.
If I had been better,
smarter, kinder,
maybe it wouldn’t have ended like this.
The universe stays silent

Depression
It swallows me whole,
a deep ocean without light.
I stop reaching for the shore.
The bed becomes my sanctuary,
though it offers no peace.
I float,
adrift,
nothing to anchor me.

Acceptance
There’s no epiphany,
no sudden light breaking through clouds.
Just a morning
where I rise
and the weight feels less like a boulder
and more like a stone
I can carry in my pocket.
It’s no permanent solution
But it’s just enough to last me the day.
The five stages of grief are: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance.
3 years in the making:

3 years you’ve cared for me

I hope I did the same for you

3 years you made me laugh

With our dumb jokes and antics

3 years I’ve thought of you

When seeing cottage cheese clouds

3 years I’ve called you

When I had something important to say, good or bad

3 years you made amazing

Simply with your presence

3 years you’ve tried to pay for me

And I’ve stubbornly refused

3 years I’ve watched you

Grow up into a man

3 years you showed me

What the love of God looks like, unconditional and unfailing

3 years of goofy photos

That I will never delete

3 years that you and I made millions of mistakes

And I wouldn’t change a single one

Because my favorite moments comprise those 3 years

And I would wait another 3 for just 1 more
My best friend of 3 years is leaving to share the love of God in another state, I couldn't be more proud 🤍
You spent so much time preserving your youth that you forgot to use it.
I wrote this thought down years ago and thought I'd publish it today. :)
The future worries me:
all of the unknown possibilities.
Indecision overcomes my mind,
at the time I most need it precise.

I even cried tonight,
looking at a list of courses:
mystifying options that I may not have
if I can’t write the essay right
or get the shiniest recommendations.

So I am worrisome,
for the next month and year.

I am worrisome because I want nothing more
than to be part of that place,
and to belong among those people.
I have to start applying to universities and this is how I feel about that in this moment.
He remembered a detail—
just one.

And somehow that was enough…

to make up for everything he forgot.
You can spend your time listening to and remembering things about someone but there is no guarantee they will do the same for you.
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