James Gale

Christmas is always a mess,
My mind gets blurry,
And the whole week,
I’ve been stressed.

It should be a joyous time,
But I just want to hide,
Crawl into bed,
And try to unwind.

Family turns cold
As my alienated feeling grows.
Everyone seems fake,
And I can’t take hold.

I try to be the perfect son
That sits back and smiles,
But the deafening noises
Of talk, utensils,
And bad Christmas music
Are eating me alive.

Their celebrations feel strange,
As they are pretending to be
The perfect household,
Where no drama takes place.

The evening is loud,
As people tend to yell.
Alcohol flows freely,
And they can’t hide its effects well.

Everyone feels on edge,
And weird stories are being said,
Everything but the truth,
It’s more entertaining to pretend.

So I will go to sleep,
No celebrations for me.
Christmas is hell
For autistic people like me.