My birthday—
the day I was born—
also feels
closer to my death.
Sad, yes,
I must admit.
No one will remember me.
I try so hard
to make others feel important
on their birthdays,
to remember them.
But when my beloved day arrives,
they forget the one
who remembered them.
Ungrateful!
Don’t they know
I placed them
on a pedestal?
And yes—
those on top
don’t look down.
Maybe that’s why
they don’t remember my birthday—
because I valued them
more than I valued myself.
Aug 29, 2025
Aug 29, 2025 at 6:49 AM UTC
My birthday—
the day I was born—
also feels
closer to my death.
Sad, yes,
I must admit.
No one will remember me.
I try so hard
to make others feel important
on their birthdays,
to remember them.
But when my beloved day arrives,
they forget the one
who remembered them.
Ungrateful!
Don’t they know
I placed them
on a pedestal?
And yes—
those on top
don’t look down.
Maybe that’s why
they don’t remember my birthday—
because I valued them
more than I valued myself.
