Birthday
The day you celebrate you we're born on this day.
The day you're happy you're alive.
The day your family, friends and others are happy you're alive.
F*ck that.
Those who should be the happiest for you.
Those who should be the sweetest to you.
Those who should be loving you.
Break you.
Isn't that great?
My own mom breaks me on my own birthday.
Telling me I'm not worth it. I'm horrible. I'm stupid for doing this or that. I'm wasting time.
Looking me in the eyes with pure hate. Fire that burns me alive.
Why can't one day of my entire life be great and awesome, like a real birthday. No. Of course not. That's way too much to ask. I mean why should I be happy on my own birthday? That's nonsense. Right?
I hate you. I'd rather be in the hospital on my birthday like last year, than have another birthday at home.
In the hospitals people won't scream at me for being useless.
Why mom? Why can't my birthday be like the ones from everyone else. Just fun. Why does everyone get their 'happy' birthday except for me?
What did I do wrong?
Born.
YOU ARE READING
Broken Stories
PoetryThis is a book full with poems. Poems with me in it. They're not really poems, they're just my thoughts. Things I want to say out loud, but things you just can't say.. --- I don't want attention, I don't need attention, I'm just putting this poems...
