batter //edited

It is not my birthday today. Day of my birth passed not too long ago though. I’m not one to make a fuss, not much anyway, over a day. I’m not a fan of events centered around me; large celebrations, commotions, ceremonies, or compulsory care-taking in an outward direction.

I try to focus on the good, the lighter, sweeter moments of life. For some reason that’s never been the flavor of my birthday cake. Even when things go OK, it’s usually because I planned something myself for someone else to enjoy the day. The cake always has a hint of bitter, of sour, of tears from the year before, or before, and before. A theme many times over, on regular days too, is a spouse’s performance dressed up like they care. Curses and anger. Because I couldn’t hold the blame for their own failures.

Hurry up.

Pick the cake — but not the wrong flavor. Sorry.

Pick the place — without warning, without any time. Sorry.

Hurry make a decision, choices I was never given. Sorry.

Let’s not forget giving me a hurtful card, when our marriage was dying, BY YOUR HANDS. The card was a ‘joke’ about a selfish spouse. Not only that, but given on the wrong day. Yeah, thanks.

Happy Birthday to me.

Don’t celebrate me. This isn’t a life worth celebrating.
Not while I am still learning how to exist without apologizing for it.

— Beech