Last of The Believers

We were the first out of bed in the morning, we were the last of the believers.

We were drunk on hot cocoa,

Present hunting, seasonal dreamers.

We were held up Gospel hymns in our midnight Sunday dress

The cold weather punched us dry in the mouth

Split our lips like fire wood as we burned that candle down

To bass lines played by little drummer boys behind the railroads of our ribs.

Our lungs slowed like toy trains running low of battery as we

Fell asleep in our beds and visions of sugarplums danced in our heads

Because we did not yet dream of being whole.

We would watch the snowflakes drop like good graces from heaven and wondered if God ever got cold.

Wondered if mistletoe really worked.

Wondered at what age we might get to find out that it really does.

Carols would swim through the air, those musical fish,

I wrapped my wrists in tinsel because I knew the life

Flowing underneath was a gift.

Knew that my eyes were more sacred than the things they lusted after

After the storm came, there were snowdrifts everywhere

Slopes so big I pretended they were polar bears

And pricked my fingertip with the needlepoint of my imagination.

My blood dripped Coca-Cola red down onto the icy white fur

And for the first time, I learned how terrible it felt to ruin something perfect.

Lately, I’ve been carrying all my questions in a manger.

Wondering how the wise men got a north star that led them to a savior

While the only signs I see anymore are the ones that keep telling me to “STOP”

But I wasn’t able to stop the cold, so my innocence became a frozen pond

I broke the blades off my skates and hid them in my voice box

So all the words I speak will come off sounding sharp

Yet, I still seem to be returning to places in my life where the

Ice has already proved too thin

I’ve ended up in shock more times than I will ever admit

And I never quite learned how to unwrap a gift

So I just end up tearing beautiful things to pieces

I’m having a hard time telling the difference

Between a blessing and a curse

So this Christmas, I’m asking my angels for a better radar

So I can learn what it feels like to fuck up in reverse

I want to get it right

I want to feel like a tree that has never known a crooked star

Want to come to you carrying warm light bulbs in my arms and a crackling fire in my heart

Want to be able to hold all my guns without hearing

You say, “Be careful, you’ll shoot ya eye out, kid.”

This Christmas I want to see snow angels in my Mother’s eyes

And hear conviction in a voice that belongs to any of my Fathers

I want to feel like I’m becoming a good son alongside other good sons and daughters

It’s just that, I keep on forgetting how it was this all started

But I’ve been picking up signals in my broken receivers

Angels trying to remind me that

We were the first out of bed in the morning,

We were the last of the…