The Things We Left Unsaid

birthdays

People love to celebrate the day someone is born, 
But what happens when you see it for what it really is— 
Just another day marking your slow, inevitable aging? 
With each birthday, more problems creep in, 
As the years stack up like burdens you must carry. 

Nobody seems to care about you— 
You’re left alone, surrounded by empty cheer. 
No one to share in the hollow celebrations, 
No genuine joy for the passing of another year. 

You’re an afterthought in their festivities, 
Their smiles are masks, their excitement feigned. 
They don’t truly care that you’re growing older, 
They just put on a show, a pretense of celebration. 

Each birthday becomes a reminder of solitude, 
A stark contrast to the facade of festivity. 
No real warmth, no sincere affection— 
Just the aching realization that you are, 
Always alone in the crowd, 
An unnoticed, uncelebrated soul.