I don't like my birthday because it reminds me that I am myself. Let's celebrate me and all my faults, and wants and needs and fears. And everything I have yet to achieve. Let me remember all of these things again and yet... I tear through this cake that is so fucking delicious I cry.
You're not allowed to be this good. I chew and sob and wipe my mouth after my eyes. everything is salty and sweet. And I laugh, because what else is there to do?
"Thank you for being here."
"I love you too, I love you guys thank you for coming, you validate me I'm not sure if I'd be here without that validation. I'm not sure if I'd be here if it weren't for seeing myself through your words and eyes. You guys see me so wonderfully. I am something majestic to you, maybe one day I truly will be."
Instead of saying this,
I make a joke about sad birthdays, and swallow.
I allow a round of laughter. I clean my face with a napkin and smile with sugar in my teeth.
"Who wants seconds?"
-
How many times can one turn 23?
I am not meant to be a child at this age.
I want to grow but I also want to stay mindless, ignorant and happy.
Blissfully childlike and happy.
YOU ARE READING
Untitled Anthology for the 20 somethings
PoetryMoulding myself into something I'm not. a love letter to all the sweetly gorey things and afflictions that are a part of being a young adult like love, insecurities and vulnerability in 15 parts. Image: "Connected, Communicating" Noah Kocher.
