Happy Birthday

- "Happy birthday," they tell me...

As if it's so easy for me

To be happy...

To have a happy day.

- "Let's celebrate," they say.

Celebrate what? I think to myself.

My birth - my existence -

Is nothing to celebrate.

Each day that I breathe

Is a day that I waste air

That could be better used by others.

- "Would you like cake, ice cream, or both?"

Does it matter?

I'm fat and ugly anyway -

I always will be.

Why not enjoy the taste...

Enjoy the food...

Enjoy...

Or not...

Maybe I don't deserve it.

- "What would you like for your birthday?"

That's the golden question...

What do I want?

How about a family that gets along

And loves me for who I am?

How about a body that doesn't ache

With every move... every breath...?

How about a mind that isn't flooded

With disorders and riddled with negativity?

How about friends that don't leave me...

Don't betray me...?

How about people that love me

For my problems and quirks...

Not in spite of them?

That's what I want...

- But it's too much to ask for, isn't it?

It's more than anyone

Is ever willing to give.

- So instead,

How about death?

How about releasing me

From this Hell I have been trapped in

For far too long?

- How about taking me away

So I no longer have to be

Anyone's problem... mess...

Ugly... fat... worthless... alone...

A mistake...

- "Happy birthday to you," they sing.

They should be singing to me

In my coffin,

I think.