Santa isn't real...12.01.03

Santa isn't real
Not your smile
Not your laughter
Not your touch
Not the words you gave and said they meant so fucking much

Not your eyes
Not your skin
Not even your hand, waving
Not even the cabin you live in

Not your hair
Not your jeans
Not your leather
Not even the robe you sauntered in

Not the words you sang
Not the music you blared
Not the voice you said you had
To scream that you cared

Not the tears you spilled
Not the nights you cried
Not the blood you shed
And not the night you almost died

Not the tunes you played
not the poems you write
Look, Santa isn't real
And that part of me isn't either.

Lol. I recall who I wrote this about. It was a scary part in my life. I wish I could be honest about it. I have ...there is someone who knows that part of my life. The part that thought I just didn't fit here and I could have fit there.
Well this was about a man who lived somewhere I can't remember, right now.
He claimed to be this gorgeous, cowboy that had this amazing body. This sexy as all hell voice (when I heard it it sounded fake as hell.) bbuuuttt that's another story.
This was written after the fact I had found out certain things.
This was when being something you weren't online was almost mandatory.
And of course, I was something I wasn't. For a long, long time.
But everything about him was fake. His accent, his voice, the songs he said he wrote, the times he said he'd try to take his life.
I don't know what it was but I enjoyed calling his bluff every, single, time.
He introduced himself as this amazing, hard to get, prize type person. A trophy man. Lol.

And I had him wrapped around my little finger as it was.
Easily if anything.
And once I found out he was a fraud, I used it to my advantage.

But...that was a long time ago.