Selfless love
pours out like a waterfall
from her loving and caring heart
nurturing all who would drink from it.

Courage seeps from every inch of her muscle
protecting and guarding
For she is our guardian angel.

Her heart beats at a different frequency
But resonates with each one of ours
Embracing and harmonizing
creating a beautiful symphony.

Like a sunshine
she refuses to eclipse
radiating positivity and happiness
To the deepest, darkest of corners.

Encouraging, rearing and believing
pushing and advising
she gave and gave
planting flowers in our gardens
helping us bloom
and bringing the best versions of ourselves forth.

Unconditional and pure is her love
Patient is her soul
She is our mother
And a very happy birthday to her!

For my birthday gift
this year,

I want

the summer evening mellow wind
on burnt roofs signing off on February memories,

Some sober flowers that smile just enough
and smell more of affection than love,

a stray dog to validate me
and wag his tail when my wings are cut off,

A long way to go
and return,

a mute button

and a gun.

It’s your birthday today, and I wish you well.
You turned 17 turned today, and all is well.

You’re nearly an adult, yet somehow so young.
You’re two years younger than me, yet somehow just one.

You’re the epitome of a teenager, and the envy of many.
You’re flawed and imperfect, as any good human is.

Never forget, you are a good human.
Live your life to fullest, and with no regrets.

Happy birthday,
A~

It’s been three years
But your birthday is still programmed into my calendar
And even now I have to fight back the urge
To text you and say
Happy Birthday
and
I hope you’ve been doing good
and
How are your family?
It’s been a while, are you still you?
- I wonder why you’ve been avoiding me for so long -
If there is a crime I could have committed that I forgot but you never will,
And I don’t want to be friends again:
We are both too far adrift from the familiar shore that had bonded us in the first place,
But it goes against my nature to leave this stone unturned,
and I have seen you turn your nose up, turn tail on sight of me,
Like I am a disease you could catch just by saying hello,
As if you have never been part of my life before,
And I am baffled every time just the same as I was the first day you decided we were both finished with the other,
But somehow,
through it all I have kept a reminder of you in my calendar,
Three years later, worlds apart,
Even now I type out the message,
Imagine pressing send,
Knowing full well that you wouldn’t respond - if you read it in the first place,
So I don’t.
I delete every word and send them out into the universe;
Tonight, this one is for you.
Happy Birthday, G, and many happy returns.

I will be born in fourteen hours
thirty-seven years ago,
from the labour of my mother
into Doctor Lucatelli’s hands.

How could I have known or did I
the amazing wondrous life reserved,
the privileges in store the blessing
of a consciousness that dares.

I will be a happy child, emanating joy,
adults and elders will listen to my stories
imbued with my essence, imbrued in fantasy
sparkling smiles.

In my teens they will compliment me
on my wisdom and gentleness, sense
of responsibility, little will they know
the freedoms I’ll enjoy, the libertine notes.

By the age of majority I will defy
death, a fight to see who’s stronger
needless to say, I will win over and over again,
I’ll get acquainted with myself.

I’ll graduate and find a job, have a kid
at twenty-three, a second four years later
a lifetime friendship with their adorable father.
I’ll be successful in building projects for others.

Until I won’t. I soon will realise what I want
find my courage and decide, to become
rather than merely be, me. Fast-forward
another ten years, see books be published,

indulge in writing poems,
study the universe and the mind,
observe as if it was my first day,
beginning in fourteen hours.

After weeks spent parading around, letting everybody and their mother know the day is near, we are finally here. It’s the night of your 21st birthday. 3 shots, 2 beers, and a joint or four later, and I’m feeling pretty alright.
Your mother brings out your baby book, the entirety of your childhood life simplified into pictures and momentous small enough not to cause the pages to crease, meticulously placed between two hard covers.
She flips through the album, licking her fingertips between every other page and reading aloud the entries with the most significance to her. Suddenly she stops and points to a date.
January 19, 1997. The first time you smiled.
I look over at you and you smile back at me. A smile so radiant, there’s no need to explain the significance.