Poem Collection

Birthday

It's my birthday

It's March eight

Two friends didn't text

They forgot my birth date

I shouldn't feel this way

But it's making me mad

It reminds me of my 7th birthday

Which makes me sad

I threw a party

There were a lot of people I knew

I'm still not over it

So every year I'm feeling blue

They pretend to like me

But they don't

They care today

But tomorrow, they won't

I know I should be having fun

And go out 

But I'm not the kind of girl

That likes to be so loud

I only talk

So I can speak

That is the thing

That makes people think that I'm weak

I never really knew

How to stand up for myself

Learned it pretty late

At twelve

That made birthdays

The worst thing to exist

So I guess

I'll never make a birthday guest list.

(The first lines are no hate to my friends, I'm often overly dramatic in my poems. Everybody forgets birthdays sometimes.)