He was my papaw and he was my father's dad.
When he died in 1994, it was both tragic and sad.
If Papaw had survived, he would be celebrating his birthday.
If he hadn't died, he would've become 100 years old today.
He was born on July the 28th of 1923.
Today he would've lived for a century.
When Papaw took some medication, he became very sick.
He died six days after his birthday because he was allergic.
Dad was hurt by Papaw's death and so was I.
It's always painful to learn that a grandparent is going to die.

****!
no way!
im still alive?
im getting too ******* old...
anyway, what's for breakf-- "rent"?
****,
i'm old.

Everyone asked me what I wanted for my birthday this year, and I didn’t really have an answer. I’ve felt somewhat numb this week.

After the clock struck midnight, and it was my 24th year on this earth, it was made very clear to me what I want for my birthday.

I want things to go back to how they were,
dumb teenagers in love with each other, holding on maybe just a little too tight.

I want to lose track of time with you in your bed, listening to songs that seemed so relevant when pouring our hearts out to each other.

We ended things and moved on with our lives in very separate directions, but we always stayed connected. I think we were both secretly rooting for our reconnection, someday, when the timing was “right”.

And no matter how far apart we had grown, there was always unexpected reminders of you everywhere. We kept in touch. The depth of our love created this ongoing tension, always tethered.

I talked to your mom a few days ago, on the anniversary of your death. She’s one of the only people that I think truly understands the complexity of my pain.

I never got closure from any of this. The only thing I’m left with is the realization that I’ll never get a “happy birthday” from you ever again.

Maybe I’m selfish, but I think it’s okay to be selfish on your birthday. and my only wish is that you were still here. that you didn’t take your life. that somehow you’re still out there thinking about me when I’m thinking about you, like how it always was, but will never be again.

The only thing that I can do is listen to our songs, and talk to the moon. I would do anything for you to be able to listen.

it was your birthday yesterday
mom reminded me
like it hadn’t been the only thing on my mind all day
she said she couldn’t believe that it’s been so long
but it felt like i had just hugged you yesterday
i didn’t want to believe it
i don’t believe it
and i’m not sure that i ever will
so i set up a number that leads to no where
because i wondered what it would be like to call you
to leave you a message
to tell you how my day was
and i think of you
whenever i see a flannel shirt
when i eat peaches
when i smell fresh flowers
and sometimes when i want to feel close to you
i’ll go into my spare room, open the closet
and put on your army green police jacket that you left
it even still smells like you
i was too young then
i was too young to be sorting through an entire house of things so the entire family could decide what i would be able to remember you by
but even now
i don’t need your things
i remember you as clear as the blue skies you loved
it would just be nice to have more of you around
but i know you’re there
i look up at the photos of you in the living room every single day and smile
you’re gone
but i know you’re here

twelve years gone
but i can still feel you all around

Although I dont know her all to well
With a first impression flawed
Ive wrote this poem to show and tell
her happy birthday! I KNOW, this is odd-

Who writes a poem as a birthday gift?
So personal yet incomplete-
Its because im here so spirits lift
And to show remorse for my deceit

Im not really as rude as i was;
Not nearly as mean of a *****,
Still im unfiltered, simply because -
When around lucie hehe, sometimes I switch
So Shay,
im sorry
for unleashing my inner *****.

Happy 24th Birthday- from me, to you-
Im too poor to buy presents
So I hope this will do.
With words incandessence
Do you boo boo!

20th birthday
I've forgotten when to breathe
and my mother is my only friend
the last one yet to leave.
I am feverish skin
to March's first chill breeze
tripping over, again and again
afraid to pull my hands from my sleeve.
20 years old now
a full on woman in sheep's clothing
but I don't know how
to live life without loathing
love, and bills, and here and now's.
Myself, pulling on a window that's already closing.

Sometimes I think he’d prefer something
well dressed, with a cut glass accent,
emerging from a smokey platform perhaps.
Yes - at the close of the summer term,
with families reunited,
plans for coastal trips and picnics
with a loyal hound in tow

Sometimes I think he’d prefer life
to be slower, the roads clearer,
with a simpler dashboard
and less choice of radio stations
and for his favourite tunes to be mono,
accented by crackles and plagued
by fades under bridges

Sometimes I know he’d prefer
more time with a paintbrush,
followed by books and discourse
around a wide family table
and the pleasure of sharing slow food
and mellow music with those who matter,
those with whom he’d like to grow older

Sometimes plans and friends
come together, designed for us to remember -
that at all times we need to try harder
to make the sometimes happen.