i swallow salty tears as i remind myself what my 14 brings every year.
it brings me the "you're so alone" whispers,
the i have never seen such misery.
you tear *****.
you cry behind the ladder in the backyard while another round of bores rest in your house for this year's round of applause.
i age so carelessly i wish to never age like this again,
and i tell myself so
every
*******
year.
i know what 14 brings.
lustrous giggles
empty minds
sleepless nights.
nothing more than impurity
**** this 14
**** time.
i don't want my time anymore.
pointless to think my 14s will ever feel more than running out of air in your lungs,
ever feel better than a slap across the face from mother universe.
it laughs in my face.
i'd cry a little more if i wasn't running out of time,
cry at the romanian poetry I've received as a gift,
cry over my Edgar Allan Poe and Sylvia Plath gifts.
cry over my mom telling me i don't know how to have fun ever since we've moved.
cry over my daddy blowing me kisses from a phone thousands of kilometers away just like when i was six.
cry with myself in the mirror because i always end up like this.
november is the month of disaster and 14's the day of revenge.
happy birthday.