Another one has passed.
I wish they wouldn't call it so.
Am I supposed to give birth on this day?
Am I supposed to be happy?
My birthday is a reminder of things I long to forget.
Of endless hours
that become days
that become weeks
that become months.
And all of a sudden, I am reminded.
Reminded of birth.
Reminded of my aging body
that cries for the painful throes
of its birthday.