Letter Saint Nicholas

Dear Saint Nicholas,

I’m still a child in my soul,

Even if the world thinks I should already fit

Into some boxed-up version of “a good girl”

Who wants a husband, a kitchen, and a life on repeat.

But I don’t want a family built on lies.

I’ve met too many traitors, too many mouths full of poison,

Too many people who hate my skin

And too many boys who only want my body,

Not my heart, not my mind, not my truth.

Marriage? For what?

To wash some man’s underwear

And cook food I hate

Just so he can feel like a king in a tiny castle?

No, thank you.

I’ve got better dreams.

A game console.

A tablet.

A new phone that actually works.

And maybe — if You’re listening —

A road toward Finland,

Where my heart might finally breathe.

Yes, Saint Nicholas,

I’m a child inside,

But I’m not naive.

I know what I want,

And I won’t trade my freedom

For a ring or a man with a hungry ego.