I can’t remember my sixteenth birthday...

as a kid, daydreaming every day

Fantasizing of the perfect party,

with the perfect boyfriend,

perfect friends, plus the whole school of course,

all your family,

evey diamond you could imagine,

being able to ride your new Jeep,

just pure pink chic perfection,

Looking like a goddess in the tightest fit,

but just right amount of poofy dress,

fanciest heels, and only the best food around of course.

i lived there countless times in all parallels,

but this one.

no money to even have a bbq with your family,

the house payment was always too much,

seeming as eveyone always stayed in our,

6 bedroom, 3 bathroom, 2 living room, 1 just so huge enough kitchen,

to burry my sorrow of falling apart in the empty void that was..

but it’s selfish to take that for granted.

I had 2 alive parents and 2 living siblings,

my grandma died that yr but, i can’t control that, 

so don’t waste breath to cry, it’s selfish to cry,

youre only sad that you can’t be with them anymore,

although it’s true torture to live as a human.

but not worse than the other animals in the kingdom,

at least my life isn’t sorrounded by wire and purely for,

a moments bliss of food.

no bc a birthday party was the least of this worlds worries,

but when,

all your friends too busy, but,

a simple text from a couple people was nice though right?

Then again, they only slide up on my post saying”it’s my birthday”,

Which I made bc I needed those pointless texts.

at least someone gave me attention for 5 sec. to text,

or bc they had the same one...

would they have remembered at all?

was my dad even there that day?

or did I give him permission to go out on another trip to,

earn money for us,

Or to go spend it on double drinks at the bar in a resort.

i wouldn’t know,

i probably purposely didn’t text.

im almost 18,

and im just coming to terms with not remembering this day,

but the bigger issue,

i know it’s my fault I don’t.

i know the days expectations were set too high by,

every magazine, movie, story, book,

shows sourrounded by the number 16,

the best yr right?

is that why 17 is so different?

Considerable the yr before you realize.

the yr before everything comes to terms,

when it comes raining down.

losing everyone and every thing you once knew.

where you realize not only is Santa still fake from 3rd grade,

but so is all your life expectations,

Question eveyrhing if it’s really like that in the world.

Where something but as simple as a birthday,

will be nothing but the beginning of the melting heart.

When I always put myself last after anyone,

but the moment I stop talking,

start thinking, relaxing of a little buzz before bed,

then becomes the buzz of my life,

then to caring less,

                               and less,

                                              and less,

to where you’re always flying, no cares in the world.

your own imagination enough to distract,

rememberance of the child like wonder,

the creativity you once had.

it was nice.

finally.

until I changed...

and by that I mean they stopped caring,

Eventually.

thinking by just a reply of “I’m okay”

“didn’t” actually mean,

” I’m okay because I tell myself I am, thank you for allowing me to be convinced again.”

hugh 

but if I didn’t say I was, I can’t explain my feelings,

i would’ve been locked in a crazy house,

A kids worst fear.

id rather battle my own demons all day,

than battle them in the flesh in an unknown environment.

shove pills down my throat lock me in a white room,

ill feel happier then! no

wirh no plan to the writing format,

just tired of infinite tears on the toilet,

causes a spiral of random madness,

then to retouch with a little detail.

purely for my purpose of expression, and mine only.