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Abby May 2020
16
I’m 16
Now what?
When I was younger I had this vision of what sixteen year old me would look like and I’m nothing like her
Sixteen year old me in her head was loud and fun
She would dance on tables at parties at two am
She would be dating the love of her life and have all the friends in the world
She would dress in the latest clothes and she wouldn’t be scared to tell somebody off and stand up for herself or her friends
But
Sixteen year old me currently doesn’t go to parties and is definitely not dating the love of my life
Im trying to stay up with fashion and I succeed sometimes
I will stand up for my friends just not for myself but I’m getting there
However I still feel like younger me would be proud of
16 year old me
Just some thoughts since my birthday was yesterday
monique ezeh May 2020
age 7:
i remember being 6 and desperate to be 7— my sister had a book to gift me for the occasion, and i was positively vibrating with the anticipation of it becoming mine. 7’s always been my lucky number. the date of my birth, the days in the week, the start of my phone number. and so, 7 came and went, and suddenly i was 8.

age 8:
i moved to georgia. it didn’t hurt nearly as much as i’d expected, as much as i’d hoped. I’d wanted to feel pain in the real way, to wail and sob like a DCOM protagonist, to shut myself in my room until my mother stood the doorway to talk me down. pain makes feelings matter; who am i, if i’ve never suffered? but instead, i was fine. i said goodbye to my friends, packed my bags, and left. i haven’t spoken to any of them since.

age 10:
i finally hit the double digits. i was in fourth grade. coincidentally, it was also the first time in my life that a crush had liked me back. i felt like a real woman. i remember straightening my hair and wearing my favorite pink outfit to school, a matching shirt and skirt, box of cupcakes for the class clutched in hand. they sang happy birthday and i somehow forgot what sadness was.

age 11:
the first time i cried on a birthday.

ages 13-15:
more tears.

age 16:
sweet sixteen! this was it! i planned a party, heart thumping in my chest wondering if anyone would come. i didn’t cry on my birthday, but i cried the morning of the party. i wonder if that still counts. when the blurred vision of my tears cleared, i saw the puzzle pieces of my life falling into place. i remember thinking: “i’m finally who i’m meant to be.” (spoiler: i was wrong)

age 18:
an adult. i cried (again), but who doesn’t? i celebrated with my family, counting down the days between then and graduation. 18. one of my favorite one direction songs; it dawned on me that i only had a year left to fall in love so i could play it at my wedding. 18. it dawned on me that my youth was slipping away. in a year, i’d be celebrating my birthday in a city miles and miles away, distanced from my family for the first time in my life. (spoiler: i was wrong about that, too) 18. it feels so scary, getting old.

age 19:
today. i haven’t cried yet. i wonder if i will. i wonder a lot, these days. this day is not how i imagined it; this year is not either. i think i am okay with that, though. expectations, in my life, have often led to disappointment. 19 19 19. i missed my window with the 1D song, but i think i’m okay with that, too. 19 19 19. i repeat the word until it loses all meaning. 19 19 19. i begin to wonder if it ever had any. 19 19 19. life is an incomprehensible amalgamation of numbers words moments symbols ideas. 19 19 19. none of them mean anything. 19 19 19. or perhaps all of them mean everything? 19 19 19. today, i am 19. it means nothing. it means everything.
19 19 19.
i close my eyes and make a wish.
happy birthday to me.
Jay M May 2020
How can this be
"Happy birthday" to me
When anxiety and fear
Has been so near
And now finally upon me?

It feels as though there is something to flee
But what, I know not
Possibly just a passing thought
That this day was so ominous
The potential for darkness
But all that lingers is confusion
Were my anxieties but an illusion?

Wishes to me from those around
But I can only hear one sound
A heartbeat
Then the patter of feet
Upon the hardwood floor
A knocking at the door
"Happy birthday to you!"
Everywhere I turn
But it's anything but-

It feels as though I'm being suffocated
Drowned out and forced down
Into a seat
In front of a small burning heat
Just to listen to them sing
While I sweat a ring
Then extinguish it
Have a bit
Of the sweet below it

Smile for the camera
Watch them as they smother you
Tell you what to say and do
Some say the
Best things come in time
Say a little rhyme
Until the day comes to an end.

- Jay M
May 7th, 2020
I don't know why, but I've been fearing this day since Monday. It just felt so...ominous. Now that it's upon me, I don't know what to do. All I want is a peaceful day, maybe talk to some friends over the phone, and go for a nice walk.
Amanda Kay Burke May 2020
I spent my last birthday in tears
I won't make that mistake again

Walking in the woods to clear my thoughts
With birds keeping me melodic company

I give a round of applause after their impromptu performance

The attention they receive from me is the attention I hope for on my special day this year
The way they they make their exit is the way I wish I could make my entrance
On wings
Landing from an elegant flight fashionably late

But bones are not quite hollow enough yet
And I'll cry if I want to
monique ezeh May 2020
The drip drip drip of the Nespresso machine keeps me company.
I watch the brown pool rise and rise, filling my cup.
I take a sip, flinch unconsciously. It is bitter and scalding.
The cool foam coats my top lip.
No one is awake. It is 4am. I shouldn’t be awake.
Still, I am.
I will be nineteen in nineteen days.

This is not how I imagined my nineteenth; though my birthdays never really go the way I expect.
This is not how I imagined this month, this year.
There are worse things than being homebound; there are also better things.
I am trying to reconcile the existence of the two.

I am lucky enough to be (almost) nineteen.
To be safe
To be healthy
To have a home
To have a stable family income

I am unlucky enough to be (almost) nineteen.
To be mentally ill
To be isolated
To feel useless
To have a family spread thin

The two can coexist. I am lucky (and unlucky) enough to see this.

In nineteen days, I will be nineteen. Few people will know unless I tell them. There are bigger things to consider in the world. There are smaller ones too. I lie somewhere amid it all. I am just a girl— a faceless, healthy girl— amid a world of strife. The sun will rise, I will turn nineteen, and it will set; I doubt I will feel any different. The world will keep turning, with or without me. I am lucky (and unlucky) enough to recognize this.
Quarantine has provided me a bit too much time for introspection, I think.

My coffee is finished. The brown drops on the cup’s bottom resemble a smile. I am lucky enough to notice this.
been thinking a lot about the nature of existing in such an uncertain time. the world keeps spinning, even when it feels like it shouldn't. I'm not quite sure yet how to feel about the constance of mundanity; I don't know if there's a particular way I should feel.
Novera May 2020
I can see the rest of my life
Stretched out before me like a vast, barren landscape.
An exquisite panorama of nothingness.
Day after day melt into one another,
A continuum of mundane activities.
I can close my eyes and pick out
Any day and it will not be
Any different from the rest. Looking back,
I can see the bones of my hopes
Lying behind me. Shameless in their nakedness.
All my mistakes scattered
here and there, monuments to my failures.
And there's loneliness.
Loneliness like a little child
Chained to my waist,
Keeping me company.
I dream it will turn into a balloon
And fly away from me.
But let's be real here
We all know that is not to be.

There the future awaits
In the distant horizon, hazy as a mirage.
If I follow the trajectory of history
I can see I've already crossed the highest point.
My glory days mock me from behind-
"It's all a downward ***** from here."
I can already feel my
Bones buckling under the weight
Of expectations.
So I lay down my weapons
And close my eyes.
Turn up the volume, turn off the lights.
I will turn this barren land
Into my utopia, in my sleep.
I'm hoping to submit this to be selected for an anthology, so any suggestions for corrections/ improvement are welcome
Esridersi May 2020
Hovering clouds by her face
La Lanae hides like a space

    Lazy and open she sighs
  Evoking grace from the skies

  Nothing perturbs her ocean
All she tries steals no motion

   Janell, a dry rain puddle
Moomin May 2020
In ancient times was born a day, for festival and joyful feast
Where all would gather eagerly, to pour the wine and roast the beast
And at first these new days, gave the people needed rest
Gave them pause from toil and worry, made them feel that they were blessed

But over years and under Eons, new days contrived were added on
Days to worship fellow men, or worship season, moon and sun
And soon this list of special days, got beyond all real control
And came to be under compulsion, and so began to take their toll

And we forgot the origins, the purpose and the why
And we embroiled with heavy hearts, with cost and groan and sigh
A day for Christ born and dead, on a day he did not choose
To self-indulge with merriment, and Christianity re-use

But soon became the bearded saint, and jolly man of snow  
Or chocolate feast and bunny hop, and mystic mistletoe
A day for thanks, a day for dads, a day for Saints and ghouls
And one for lovers and for mothers, and even one for fools

Remembering ****** victory, or the start of a new year
A day to gorge and one to fast, for fireworks and fear
And a day for every one of us, so we are worshipped too
To make us feel loved just once a year, cause once will have to do

And then the days become the law, and choice is left undone
Compelled to celebrate each time, or risk us being shunned
For who can deny a chocolate egg, for child or lover sweet?
Or deny a mother's floral gift, or children's spooky treat?



Who would dare to question these, and stop from living lies?
Who will defy these decrees, and in the face of pressure fly?
For we comply, against our will, while we incur the debt
Though the birthday boy be a loathsome lad, for one day he is the best

And children challenge strangers, for sugar under threat
And mum is glorified one day, then daily we forget
For if we are forced to love one day, when and how and who
How less likely all year round, do we tell them “I love you”?

Yet among these obligation days, one was left behind
A day given long ago, but one to which we're blind
Remember that day of rest that was, when families were one
And the world would stop and contemplate, and gather in the sun  

No more days like that for us, this world has gone beyond
Past truth and love and God above, to whom we once belonged

And so I choose to have a day, where no-one is adored
Where no purchase is required, one which we can afford
Where the corporates do not dictate, and sell plastic love to us
And the measure of our affection, is not how much it cost

And give no name, nor choose a date, but fellowship hold dear
And warmly tend to love and friend, on all days of the year
Blackenedfigs Apr 2020
I am forever
plagued by noisy yard work
when trying to sleep.


                                        Skipping class again
                                        because of anxiety
                                        I don't need more sleep.


                                                                
                                                                         It is my birthday
                                                                         I am crying in the car
                                                                         27 looks real rough.
Poetic T Apr 2020
We were in confided spaces before,
           in open air. Where we never mingled...
But at least we had company that we were
next to, now were in solitary confinement.

Now were 6 foot or 72 inches or 182.88cm
                from the nearest person, I don't know them,
they were here before me,
                                             celled up.
Slow walk, felt like a life time, so few steps..

But this is a funeral prosecution,
               is the one in front of me going to cough,
                                                                ­          sneeze..
Will they cover up or infect me, ME…
With there I don't know what's, could it be hay fever.

Could be me coughing in seven, to when I have a ventilator
shoved down my insides, I'm a breathing coffin..
        Just being buried slowly..
                                           they burn you now...
But I'm not there yet, I wash my hands.
                

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me,
        I hope I wash my hands enough to see my  
                                                            ­     next birthday.
  But I'm wishing my hand happy birthday now,
            So soar but I'm happy birthdaying all week.

We in an open prison, free but unable to escape,
               I look out my window and breath..
      The air is a lot fresher that it used to be..

Another week passes, I write lines on the wall
         of my incarceration, I'm in a cell of luxury.
But I've never felt so alone.
     Were all roses, wilting due to lack of sunlight...
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