I hate my birthday, And all the special days, Because of the expectation To have a happy day I hate the cake and candles, Stale before it’s eaten And blown out with a wish Poor thing, it’d already been beaten. I hate the attention, Despite that I usually spend it alone, I hate the texts of wishing well, When they know I’m not well at all. Yet I do try every year- To have a happy day, To wish upon a candle, And wish the wish will stay.