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.