why’d i stop celebrating?
or even blowing candles?
or hoping that people would say sweet words
on the day that i was born

it was too toxic for me
too much people smiling
when they only want to eat the food
in my feast
and leave without
saying a word

gifts too genuine and expensive
but do they make me happy?
no cause money
is false hope of happiness

i tried to smile
for everyone stay strong
but why did everyone changed
as my age differs a single digit

i miss the old parties were
i could only be laughing
full of joy
but now it is full of
lies, my laughs
that you hear
are very pretentious

Another year,
another piece of me
that is getting
left behind.

My birthday comes in a little over 2 weeks and I think when people talk about birthdays, they are secretly talking about status in blocked hours.

Somewhere in that 24 hour block, a person was born, and that person was me. .....well Yay I guess.

I don't like my birthday. And the reasons for that, are more complicated than you think.

When I was 13, I was really into cupcake birthday cakes. I asked for one, every year, for a long time.

When I turned 15 and 16, my best friend baked me cupcakes and brought them to school for me, and I shared them with my peers. You see, I considered her my best friend, and I guess that's not enough to be the best friend.

It's like unrequited love if you put poisonous platonic friendship in my blood first.

When I turned 17, she did baked me my last set of cupcakes, but I no longer had a best friend. So I spent my birthday mentally by myself while my family sang otherwise.

And right now, I hate cupcakes, and superhero films because they remind me of her. But saying that is the weakest thing to do, since everything, reminds me of her.

I will never admit I loved her, the same way she will shamelessly say she never loved me. I can't hate her, but I can't see her without hating myself.

You know age, goes up, the same way sadness, goes down. Pulling you into another 24 hour block just so you can say.

"Hey. I made it another day."

I will admit that every day without her is another day without cupcakes, and another day without sugar is another day without happiness. And people may have asked me "How can you flip-flop between preferences like you're not the biggest homosexual in the closet." So when I tell people I'm straight, they tell me I'm not allowed to change my mind.

I loved her, but she left me and took all of my friends with her. And I thought that real friends wouldn't abandon me, but there is always time to be wrong. By the time my birthday comes, I'll be crying, and she doesn't even remember what day my birthday is on.

By the time I read this out loud, I will have been through this birthday, like a person walks through fire. Turning 16 is less about age, then it is about school, and turning 18, is less about the number, and more about becoming an adult. And no amount of adult can neutralize pain.

I have accepted the fact that no man will ever really want to marry me. And no Christian, will ever truly want to love me.
And if I am wrong, I will have to repeat this lost love forever dragging it out in my life.

And if I have kids one day, do you really think...

That I'm going to tell everyone if it's a boy or a girl...

By making blue or pink...

...cupcakes?

At the age of 10, I had a conversation with a woman.
I remember asking her what games her many children played.
Did they play as I play?
She told me they enjoyed roleplaying games, and I asked what she meant.
Dress up, she elaborated. Acting, make-believe, telling stories.
I remember telling her that I felt I had wasted my youth, my childhood, and this, as if I had forgotten I was 10.
There was a seriousness to my tone, stoic-like, and a mighty dignification must have kept that woman from chuckling.
That conversation was closer to half my life ago, and I still meet with that same unrelenting sadness every other morning and every other night.
I remember the half-dreaded birthdays that followed, the recent ones the worst.
And every year that passes merely confirms the suspicion that I’ll live with that yearn for the rest of my life regardless of what else happens.
Yearning and I. Whose to say we don’t have 10, 20, 30 more years together?
But it’s nothing to worry over in the end.
I’ve turned into a person who has high-highs and low-lows,
And I’ve found that the highs are worth going down under for every once in a while.

An iris hid within a chrysanthemum.
Loyal, faithful and loving.

Hiding within their thick petals, letting not many people peek inside.
But those special flowers, special leaves and plants that look inside, are never the same.

They see a glistening, golden world.
A world full of hope and love.

When a flower is planted, it's planted with care.
Whether it grows with care is undetermined.

However, you can make a flower's life better by watering, talking and letting them breathe.
Flowers do so much for us, we should repay them.

A world full of greenery, full of plants and leaves.
A world without flowers, until I met you.

A splash of colour from your petals.
Painting a wall with your golden syrup.

I'm glad I chose to leave my dull world behind.
And befriend such a lively and lovely person.

The day you were planted is a blessed day.
And I hope I can make everyday that you live, a little more better.

As much as you've done for me.
Happy birthday.