It’s Christmas time, Santa Claus is here,
I guess it’s just that time of year
That fills everyone with glee,
Everyone but me.


I immediately regretted climbing out of bed
When I feel the chill creeping up my neck.
I just want to go back to sleep,
Then some sanity I can keep.

I slowly make my way toward the fireplace.
But that’s when I see your face
Because you always kept me warm.
And sheltered from those winter storms.

Everyone is asking me to make a list,
If I could have anything that I wish,
What would it be?
I close my eyes and I see.

Hawaii or Europe could be nice,
At least they aren’t covered in this ice.
Or maybe a new sweater,
To hide myself from this weather.

Avery wants a Barbie and Kayden wants it all,
Ian wants legos, but I fear that they’re so small,
He will probably lose them, so I guess that’s a waste,
I just want to kiss away these unpleasant holidays.

I could say I want a new car covered in ribbons and bows
But if you want the truth, then here it goes.
I want to go back this time last year where everything was right.
Where I had the boy, I had the Dad, but a Mother? Well…not quite.

Maybe that could be my other wish,
A bonus on my gift list.
I would do anything you need me to,
Because Christmas isn’t the same without you.

You didn’t have to be my father,
Because I was another man’s daughter,
But you pulled me in, and gave me your name,
And when it came to your children, you treated me the same.

Maybe I didn’t know my dad,
But there was one special man that I had,
And as I look out over this blasted snow,
I realize that I can’t let you go.

Mom part 2 might seem alright,
But you should see how she is at night,
Because the love of her life was taken away,
A month ago from last Sunday.

Daddy’s little girl, isn’t little anymore,
And daddy isn’t here to kiss her little sores.
Her heart is breaking because you’re gone.
But life is supposed to go on.

They asked me what I wanted
And all I know is that this is true,
**That Christmas time, isn’t Christmas time,
If Christmas is missing you.

I am in the right restroom,
I am wearing the right clothing,
I am not confused,
I am in the wrong body

Yes, My mother knows of my "condition".
Maybe I am mentally ill.
But that is not for you to decide.
Yes, This is of my own free will,
And not an act of rebellion.

I am not a girl.
This is my real name.
I am Kayden T. Widmer
And Yes, I am a boy.

For a boy who went to the beach and never came home

He ran where the wind met the sea,
barefoot dreams where the gulls flew free—
sixteen summers held in his hands,
cut short on Ayrshire’s golden sands.

A footballer’s heart, fierce and bright,
he lit the pitch with laughter and fight.
Busby’s pride, a brother's guide,
a grandson's echo, a father's stride.

But one moment broke the tide.
One blade, one act, one shattered sky.
What words can make the silence speak
of blood spilled young on Irvine Beach?

A town now grieves in hushed lament,
a school wears sorrow like cement.
His desk, his voice, his empty place,
the ghost of kindness in every face.

And his father writes through trembling hand:
My main man, you’ll always stand
in every breath, in every dream,
in places you were yet to be.

Scotland weeps with East Kilbride.
A wound too deep. A soul denied.
We say his name. We rage, we cry:
Kayden Moy—too young to die.

(For Amen Teklay, Kayden Moy, and every child lost too soon)


In just two months, two lives were lost,
To blades that cut through more than frost.
Amen, just fifteen, fell in March—
On Glasgow’s street beneath the arch.

No warning bell, no time to run,
His story ended, barely begun.
Three boys arrested, young as him—
Innocence drowned, futures grim.

Ten weeks on, the pain still raw,
Kayden found on Irvine’s shore.
Sixteen years, a beach, a knife—
Another boy stripped of his life.

Between these deaths, the toll runs high—
Eleven more hurt under Scotland’s sky.
Sixteen teens cuffed, charged, or tried,
While parents ask, Why has hope died?

A 13-year-old at Asda’s door,
A blade in hand, still wanting more.
Two twelve-year-olds in Lenzie fight,
Left another boy bleeding in night.

Stonehaven shook on March fifteen—
An 18-year-old stabbed on the green.
Eight days after, a child of eleven
Caught with a blade at a funfair heaven.

Kinghorn Beach—thirty in a mob,
Four boys battered, blood-soaked, robbed.
Portobello echoed with sirens' sound—
Three teens stabbed, dropped to the ground.

In Aberdeen, a girl of twelve
Cut by another—what dark spell
Turns children into sharpened rage,
And steel the ink on every page?

A seven-year-old, knife in class—
What lessons did we let him pass?
Three schools, three knives, in children’s hands—
Where did we lose the line we planned?

Two names carved into fresh-dug graves,
While headlines scroll like crashing waves.
Amen. Kayden. Just the start—
A nation tearing at its heart.

This isn’t distant, isn’t past—
These weeks have sliced through us so fast.
How many more must we allow
To fall beneath what we allow?

What justice sleeps while young blood spills?
What silence keeps us standing still?
If two months wrought this ****** toll,
We’ve lost control. We’ve lost control