Happy Birthday to Me
There was no cake,
no candles slowly melting
over a noisy table.
There was no party,
no hollow music pretending happiness
until dawn.
But there was something stranger…
people remembering that I exist.
Messages arriving quietly
through glowing screens,
small words carrying warmth
from distant places.
No one came to see me.
No footsteps at my door,
no voices filling the room,
only silence sitting beside me
like an old familiar ghost.
Yet three gifts rested like small symbols
in the middle of a tired life,
like black flowers growing
through cracks in the concrete.
And even if the world remains cold,
even if the night still lives inside my eyes,
today I was not invisible.
My birthday arrived quietly,
dressed in black,
with hands full of shadows
and a heart barely beating softly…
but still here.
Still alive.
Still staring into the darkness
without lowering my head.
Because some people
do not celebrate with light.
They celebrate by surviving.
@newgirldark
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem