~First part (the bolded part) was written on my birthday, October 19th. I never finished this poem until now because...I just didn't really want to. I was already depressed enough so...yeah~
Some of you may know that today,
October 19th, is my birthday.
Whoohoo. So exciting.
I'm 15 years old now. Great.
Yeah, I don't sound too excited do I?
It's 'cause I'm not.
I hate my birthday.
Especially when people try to
tell me it isn't my birthday.
That my birthday is in November.
Bruh, I am pretty sure I know what day
I was born, unless my whole life is a lie.
My friend of three years,
sixth to eighth grade,
told me on my 13th birthday,
in eighth grade,
that I was born in July.
No, but that isn't the worst of it.
My other friend,
the one who says that I am her best friend,
kept saying "it is not your birthday,
you are joking."
Hmm...
Actually yes, yes I am joking.
My whole life is a joke
so why not have this be
the last determining joke.
Because I totally don't know my birthdate,
don't know what day it falls on the calendar.
No,
I wasn't born on this date,
fifteen years ago,
in a hospital,
pushed out,
almost killed because of inner things,
choking me,
keeping me from breathing.
No,
I was not saved,
not taken by doctors and cleaned off,
taken and given my first breath of life.
No,
I was not made out of love from two people,
love from the One Above.
No.
I guess I have just been dead this entire time.
So don't ask me why I hate my birthday,
I mean, what is the point of celebration?
My own mother didn't even call
and wish me a happy birthday,
she only said it when I called her,
and that made it feel insincere.
I got nothing from her this year as well,
but somehow I managed to get her something,
well, more than one somethings,
that could go forth as a late bday gift
(her fault I didn't see her on her bday so...)
and more than enough for Christmas presents.
Yes,
presents.
I will not receive things;
I barely receive "Happy birthdays!"
And I will not feel good,
because no one is there to make it so.
I'll just get older,
by my lonesome,
looking up fun things
to bring my frown to a smile.
All by myself,
I'll sit.
No party
other than this party of one,
just waiting for the clock to strike midnight
so that the day will be over
and I can rest easy,
knowing that the intense weight
of a thousand boulders are off of my shoulders.
a/n
I still hate my birthday. That probably isn't going to change anytime soon so don't bother trying to convince me that my birthday is great. Like hell it is.