It’s the 25th at 2:00 AM — I just heard Santa leave.
I can’t wait to see my gifts this year. I’ve been up since Christmas Eve.
Mom says to stay put in my room — Dad says I must be good.
But good girls get excited too. I wish they understood-
How badly that I want those gifts. How wondrous they must be-
I didn’t even make a list this year. Santa, what’s in store for me?
A pony or a peony? A dollhouse or a doll?
Maybe Santa gave me all of them? Maybe Rudolph’s in the hall?
I can’t help but break the rules this time. I’m so gleeful, I can’t wait.
So I throw open my bedroom door! Sprint down the stairs, but...
It’s too late.
There’s nothing near the Christmas tree, but that fat man drank the milk.
He ate my homemade cookies and spilled crumbs across the Christmas silk.
Now I’m grounded and in trouble. Mom is angry, Dad is pissed.
And I can’t help but sit and wonder what would happen if I made a list.
If I turned the cuckoo backward, would it cry again at midnight?
Would Santa break into our home? Should I turn back on the light?
I’m a good girl every other day. It’s just one rule I defied.
So why should I be punished while the bad girls play outside?
With their peonies and ponies. Their dollhouses and dolls.
I watch them from my window. Footsteps echo down the hall-
I think it’s Santa here again. No, I think it might be God.
He mocks me from behind the door, but I see through his facade.
As it turns out, Santa isn’t real. I’ve accepted nothing is.
That some girls just draw the short straw due to helplessness or haplessness.
I’m giving up on Christmas. I’m giving up on fate.
Starting now, I’ll make my own gifts. Starting now, I’ll...
