Staring up at my tree, I do not feel small.
I do not feel as though I am being enveloped by color and light that rang throughout my childhood.  
My eyes do not wink back the twinkle that they see.

There is no anticipation.
There is no heart beat to steady the carols that are sung.
Sleep eludes me still, but for different reasons.  

Staring up at my tree, I feel large.
I feel too big to crawl under and reach the packages in the morning.  
I don't see magic in the twinkle of the lights, I see the outlet they are plugged in to.
I do not feel joy or hope.
I do not hear the angel's chorus and I do not hear the bells ring.

I do not feel grown up, but out grown.
I no longer believe and yet I have never believed in something so hard in my entire life.

Maybe I feel large because it is not my tree anymore.
I knew who it once belonged to, but they have been gone for a long time.  
Maybe the problem isn't that I feel too large or too un-small,  
Perhaps, it's that I just. Don't. Feel.