My Thoughts In Poetry

"Happy Birthday"

"Happy birthday." I can hear the words ringing, can hear people singing. My sisters run around excitedly, finally I'm 15. "No quinceañera." I remember begging my mother, months ago. Despite my Hispanic heritage, I never wanted the attention from people, nor did I want to burn a hole in my mother's wallet.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you." I hear my sisters' voices ring in song from the living room. How can they be this energetic at 8:00 this morning? I hear music start playing from the Bluetooth speaker we have set up in the living room, I'm sure my stepfather is playing the music, I think to myself when hearing the voice of Espinoza Paz blare in song through the speaker, the music resonating through the entire house.

My dog, Woody, is happily barking and the squeals from my sisters indicate to me that he's running after them, his tail wagging and bumping clumsily into anything he passes. Hopefully he doesn't break anything, I think to myself nervously.

But despite the happiness taking place in the living room, where am I?

The restroom. In a beautiful white dress, my hair is made up and I have a shade of light pink lipstick on my lips. But I'm crying. Why? I'm missing someone on this special day. The day that symbolizes that I'm no longer a child, but a young woman.

I'm missing the person who hasn't missed a single birthday up until this day, the woman who's presence means more to me than any gift. I'm missing the woman who has worked without end to ensure that my birthday is the best it can be. My mother. Where is she? At work. I see her job as a torture to me, stealing her away from her family and slaving her tirelessly, leaving her exhausted during the day, unable to listen to me tell her about my day.

So on my birthday, while she's slaving away again, I'm left panting and crying silently, hunched over the sink, tears staining my face. My reflection shows a broken girl, her face blotchy from crying and her composure completely weak.

"Happy birthday," I whisper to myself bitterly. "Happy birthday."

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My birthday is in four days and yes, I found out that my mother will have to work. Not the most pleasant thing to hear when your birthday feels like it's something symbolic. But hey, it's fine, it gave me something to write about, hopefully you enjoyed it.

Rosa Vazquez.