Another year pasts, older I become
the more I see. Birthday parties have lost
their touch. Two, five, nine, fourteen, as I strum
the fiddle of life. But what was the cost?
Cake and balloons don't cut it anymore,
Laughing and singing with family is
now a burden. Lit candles are a bore.
My eyes are opened, ignorance is bliss.
I do not mean to be so ungrateful,
But there happens to be an ungodly
amount of strings attached. I'm not able
to pay them back for their trinkets. Oddly
enough that spesh day was never stable,
Except you didn't remember my birthday,
but I never did like it anyway.
Jan 4, 2021
Jan 4, 2021 at 12:04 AM UTC
Another year pasts, older I become
the more I see. Birthday parties have lost
their touch. Two, five, nine, fourteen, as I strum
the fiddle of life. But what was the cost?
Cake and balloons don't cut it anymore,
Laughing and singing with family is
now a burden. Lit candles are a bore.
My eyes are opened, ignorance is bliss.
I do not mean to be so ungrateful,
But there happens to be an ungodly
amount of strings attached. I'm not able
to pay them back for their trinkets. Oddly
enough that spesh day was never stable,
Except you didn't remember my birthday,
but I never did like it anyway.
Another poem i wrote for English