"It's All a Lie, Reindeer don't Fly"

I cracked the paradox of the Santa who can fly. 

It’s all a lie!  No chimney is big enough for that jolly guy.

I didn’t get the new bike I begged Santa for,

it somehow went to my brother of four. 

Our parents wrapped Santa’s presents, drank spiked eggnog, and messed up the nametags while I was counting sheep in my head. 

Santa’s mistake cannot be undone; the gift stays as read.

Santa’s presents didn’t come from the North Pole or from his elves. 

Instead, they came from Kmart, Walmart and Target’s shelves.

They lied to us, our parents did, year after year. 

The bells and ringing I hear are from what used to be my friends, neighbors and school mates laughing at me, in my ear.

From the kindness of our hearts, we left dear Santa cookies, milk and Pop Tarts. 

In return he gave us lies, betrayal and a kick to our lower parts.

What hurt most is the ridicule from family to us,

then from the kids at school, even from those on our bus.

Crushed are my dreams of peppermint sticks,

replaced with blows from my older siblings, mockingly taunting me: “Do you still Believe?”, with kicks. 

Even now as an adult, every year without fail,

I still cringe when I first see signs of a Christmas Sale.

The season gets longer and longer each year,

this time it starts even before Halloween is near.

This is why I don’t believe in the big guy in the sky, because if Santa can’t fly,

then the whole thing is a lie,

like: traveling to Bethlehem by the star in the sky;

being falsely arrested and tried by the Chief Priest of High;

the Tomb Guards being paid to lie; Herod killing boys up to knee high;

Abraham’s Covenant passed to the twelve tribes of Israel including Levi;

Jesus persevering even if they crucify; the gifts of the Magi;

to pass through the Red Sea on ground that is dry;

and for Moses’ Exodus of the Israelites from Egypt the Passover for the Believers is when the Angel of Death of the Firstborn had passed the Believers by, but killed the firstborn of the unbelievers, with a cry.

There was no room at the Inn

for the one who forgives Sin.  

Mary gave birth in the manger, then they traveled to Egypt instead,

and returned to Nazareth when Herod was dead.

I am not scorned or bitter, but I never again believed my parents or authority or a non-fiction prince;

the truth is a lie and the lie is the truth, this is the rabbit hole that I have been in, ever since.

God is the Devil and the Devil is God, as I understand;

I will become famous for my marksmanship someday, when I take aim from a tree-stand.

After the self-inflicted gunshot, you can carve on my tombstone of wood,

“Spending eternity with my fellow souls who likewise love the Devil, who is so good.”

Original sarcastic poem, written by notgnashing.com 2023