[Intro] Your Honor, I’d like to file a seasonal complaint. Case name: Me versus Christmas. Jurisdiction: my last nerve. [Verse 1] Your Honor, let the record show: I tried to play along, I bought the matching wrapping paper, learned the stupid song. I answered every group chat with a forced “can’t wait!”, signed up for Secret Santa, brought a dish, arrived half late. Exhibit A: four parties in three nights, fake smiles, small talk, tension in the fairy lights. Exhibit B: “Be grateful, dear, it’s just one time a year,” while my heartbeat does the bookkeeping on my quiet fear. [Pre-Chorus] All I wanted was one small silent night, not a project plan in tinsel, sold as “pure delight”. [Chorus] Stamp it, call it Christmas, push it through the line, file the joy in triplicate, sign here on the dotted line. Christmas by protocol, as per section 9.3, all emotions pre-approved, attach your heart as .pdf to me. Stamp it, call it Christmas, log it in the system too, “Q4 spirit KPI: pretend that everything is true.” [Verse 2] Your Honor, kindly note Exhibit C in this complaint: the “family photo moment” where we edit out the faint. We angle all the faces so the cracks don’t show, add a filter called “together”, call it “let the camera glow”. Exhibit D: the dinner where we bless the turkey’s fate, then slice each other slowly with a joke that came too late. Exhibit E: the Perfect Host who hasn’t slept in days, burning out on “festive” like it’s part of their appraise. [Pre-Chorus 2] All I wanted was a room where I could breathe, not a mandatory miracle I’m too tired to believe. [Chorus] Stamp it, call it Christmas, push it through the line, print a smile, suppress the sigh, say you’re “happy, doing fine”. Christmas by protocol, follow form and don’t ask why, tick the box for “holiday”, ignore the need to cry. Stamp it, call it Christmas, let the minutes blur and spin, “Presence: 100% achieved, connection: please attach within.” [Bridge] Your Honor, before you rule, I’d like one last remark: somewhere past the flyers and the sale signs in the dark, there’s a kid with chipped hot chocolate, staring at the snow, no agenda, no performance, just a quiet yellow glow. That’s the only Exhibit I would like to keep, not the noise, not the schedule, not the debt before we sleep. Drop the pressure, keep the cocoa, drop the show, keep one small flame, I’m not suing joy itself, I’m suing everything that stole its name. [Breakdown] Stamp, sign, send, repeat, tick the box, ignore the beat. Rulebook, rulebook, overhead, who approved this in my head? Stamp, sign, file, comply, call it “festive”, wonder why. Case in session, truth on hold, all this glitter, none of it gold. [Final Chorus] Stamp it, call it Christmas, push it through the line, but this year I withdraw consent to call exhaustion “fine”. Christmas by protocol, nice attempt, but here’s my plea: less performance, fewer checklists, more imperfect human me. Stamp it, call it Christmas, if you must keep all the forms, I’ll be at the kitchen table, far away from all your norms. If there’s any higher court for what this season’s meant to be, let the verdict read: “Keep love and warmth – all other claims dismissed by me.” [Outro] Case closed. Holidays remain in force, with one amendment: no protocol, no performance, just actual people inside.
