I walk through two sets of electric doors
and my heart opens with them.
What does Christmas mean, now?
The children are all grown.
Their own babies too small yet to know.
I am clinging to my
warm sense of magic
that sparkle in my heart still ignited
by twinkling lights and spiced drinks
a sense of love in cosy-ness;
I hold this sentiment tight
in the face of my lover’s grinching
and general spite for all things
red, green, and glimmering.


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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