The holidays have a strange way of resurfacing old versions of ourselves. The child who waited. The belief that good things arrived simply because we hoped hard enough. For many of us, that version feels distant now, replaced by a quieter, more guarded endurance.
This poem is not about celebration. It’s about survival during a season that insists on cheer, even when hope feels rationed. Day two of writing and posting one poem a day is about naming that shift honestly, without pretending it doesn’t exist.
Hopeless Holiday
This year’s “holiday cheer”
is nostalgic in a way I’ve come to
fear.
Though,
I used to wait for Santa,
sitting still, filled with untamable
hope.
Now it seems the hope he brings
is more about having at least one thing
left to hope for at all.
Being hopeless on Christmas
would have to be worse than this.
Poet’s Note
This poem isn’t about Santa, and it isn’t about religion or tradition. Santa exists here as a symbol of effortless hope, the kind we’re given as children without conditions, without proof, without fear of disappointment.
As adults, hope changes. It becomes smaller, more deliberate. Sometimes it’s not about joy at all, but about refusing to let everything go dark at once. This piece lives in that space, where hope hasn’t vanished, but it no longer arrives freely.
Hope doesn’t always look like joy. Sometimes it looks like refusal. Sometimes it looks like staying present through a season that hurts, instead of opting out completely.
This poem holds that tension without resolving it, because not everything needs to be resolved to be honest. Day two is about acknowledging that hope can shrink and still matter, especially during the holidays.
