i have never felt that,
the happiness that you feel
in your little heart
while standing still, making sure that
your breaths won’t chase the flame
of your birthday candle away.
and as the visitors finish their song,
you’ll close your eyes gently,
and think of something that you would
want to get, believing that candles
have the magic power to
make your wishes appear
in your closet.
i’ve always been the visitor,
entering small spaces through the crowd
just to see the celebrant and watch
them blow their birthday candles.
and when i get home, i lie down somewhere
soft, close my eyes and think about
what i saw, carefully remembering the
details: how exciting it is to stand
behind that little flame,
how its warmth must’ve felt like,
and how sweet the cake was.
i wanted to wear pretty dresses too,
and have my hair fixed by my mother.
i wanted to have my own cake served
in front of me too, with my favorite
princess’ face drawn on top of it.
but as i grew up, i started refusing to attend
birthday parties, because
i don’t want to imagine myself
being the celebrant anymore.
i stopped doing that a long time ago,
with the thought of refusing to celebrate
my own birthday,
though i know my mother won’t insist
because she already knows how much
i hate it.
but the truth is, i don’t hate it.
i am just hurt, and still hurt, that
i didn’t get to experience that
as a little kid, when i still believe in
magical birthday candles.
YOU ARE READING
Found This Book Somewhere In The Forest
Poetry"Talk to my soul later midnight, when the moon's at its peak. That's the only way of communication that I know, because my physical lips will stutter if I told you about how I want to tear my human skin apart and go out."
