“𝑊𝑖𝑡𝒉 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑓, 𝑎 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝒉 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝒉𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠;
𝑤𝑖𝑡𝒉 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐𝒉, 𝑎 𝒉𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑗𝑜𝑦.
𝑀𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝐶𝒉𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠!”

• • •

How does a flower in a garden 
Feel like a cactus in a desert? 
Still a plant, still vibrant, 
But standing hand in hand with isolation.

The other blooms danced,
Their laughter carried by the winds,
But I remained still,
Rooted in a soil that never felt like home.

The first Christmas came, 
Rain on my barren soil, 
A miracle whispered.
A child’s wish, innocent and raw.
I wished to belong,
To sway with the others in harmony.

Like the clock’s hand, 
I felt lost.
Surrounded by numbers that looped, 
Never staying long enough to matter. 
My wish was dismissed. 

Why does the flower feel like the cactus? 
Because weeds surround him, 
And the flower, in its despair, 
Would trade its petals for thorns 
Rather than become just another leaf.
 
—

They say age brings strength, 
But every passing year fills me with dread. 
I am older now, 
Not a child, not an adult.
A being stuck between naivety and maturity. 
Like a hawker, I carry the weight of my choices
On a tray balanced atop my head, 
But instead of selling my burdens, 
I collect more with each passing day. 
The dreams of my youth still linger, 
Begging for attention. 

But I no longer crave friends. 
I’ve survived without companionship. 
Now, I only desire peace, 
To unburden the tray on my head. 

The garden is far behind me,
Its weeds replaced by endless sand.
I thought solitude would bring peace,
But instead, it brings questions.
Why did I grow thorns?
Why did I trade my petals?
The answers elude me,
Lost in the barren winds.

This time, I write a letter,
Since they are deaf to my wishes.
I write to Santa, to heaven, 
My words, dripping with questions,
And my desire to be unburdened.
To be free.

Sealed with the tears of my anxiety. 
The seal remains unbroken, 
Still with me,
Lingering,
Until today.

—

Now an adult, 
Rejection from my youth 
Has become the weapon 
That killed my innocence. 
Surrounded by colleagues, 
Not friends. 
Filled with responsibility, 
Not stability. 
Juggling strength and fragility, 
Crushed by the bricks of my own stupidity. 

I sit in solitude, 
Make one final plea, 
And scream my wish,
Louder than ever: 
“I WANT TO REST! 
I WANT PEACE! 
I WANT YOU!” 

He smiles at me. 
With a quiet hand, 
He breaks the seal of my letters. 
Reveals that the desert was my place all along. 
My last Christmas wish 
Was to dwell with him, 
To accept him, 
To find peace in the solitude of thorns. 

Now I sit among other cacti, 
Our stories woven into the sands. 
We sing songs of pain and joy, 
Wishing unheard wishes,
Not with despair, 
But with understanding. 

Written by Sokeipirim Kesibo.