Birthday

My birthday’s in a couple of days. I’m not big on this birthday thing. A birthday person, not me.

But every year I know it’s that weird day. 

The special day? 

The day that I was born, September 27th, 1995. 

The expectations come on the people I love. 

The disappointment follows along. 

On this day, every year. 

I know my mom threw big parties when I was a kid. 

She brought ponies, friends and family. 

Cake too. 

When I was in 5th grade, I gave a note to my teacher, 

“I’m going to bring cupcakes to celebrate tomorrow”.

The next day, I put them under my desk, hoping that we would sing soon. 

The teacher forgot and I didn’t want to be a bother.  

Tears were falling right after school. 

As the years roll by, I forget what happened. 

But one or two, I remember a few.  

Like my friend telling me last minute she couldn’t come to the field trip. 

Her head, pounding from the night before. 

Hungover still. 

I found myself alone.

In the green grass, no one to talk to, no one to care. 

Just the clouds and I.

Or the time I went hiking, only for my boyfriend to say, “can you pay for the gas.” 

A lot of time has gone by. 

Some birthdays were great, some I wish to forget 

And through the years I learned and cried. 

I cried a lot. 

But let me make this straight. I’m living a life I never imagined. 

To be standing in front of people everyday teaching. 

I went down this spiritual path, accepting my life for what it is. 

Not perfect at all. 

Not married with kids by 30. 

No boyfriend insight. 

I am 31 years young. I have that.