The rush of Christmas, ever prevailing like the oxygen was not to be discarded like a pack of cards on a Sunday morning.
The feelings of euphoria that comes to most prior to Christmas eve was like a touch of snow despite the pandemic.
The nurture of love which for many was an illusion was painted awash with Christmas lights.
I, for one, felt the joy in spades and looked forward like a deer to the celebrations.

Fear, A Covid-19 weapon was lost in the abyss, for nothing would damper my Christmas spirits.
I was high on Christ like I would a cigarette stick.
I continually told myself that the lockdown wouldn’t give me a meltdown but a touchdown to my blessings.
Pretty solid when you think of the gloom that perused the year.

Clothes, bags and shoes were a list of my forget-me-nots.
For what was Christmas without a little bit of goodies to spice it up?
Yes, my feet might never leave the house but dressing up like a Barbie, I must.
Christ would have wanted me to for dirtiness was not His norm.

Reaching out to my pops in another land, I shed a few tears to get my wants.
He ate from my hands like candy crush and I danced to the stores with my hands aplenty.
The stores pushed me back for the END SARS protest raged on as smoke.
What to do when goods have been stolen in an illusion of protest/palliative?

A little dispirited, I walked away from the stores of disappointment
My little brain rewired my thoughts to my meltdown chants which booted my happy soul to Christmas alters.
There was still time, my fingers on my keyboards brought me to the online stores.
I finally got my goodies in spades and bounds with happiness reaching the moon and back.

Back home, I was on an...