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Poem

Today's impromptu poem from writing group:


Birthdays are important
when you're 7.
Anticipation
floods the weeks
leading up to them.
It's a day that is all about
you
and
at age 7
everything is
never
all about you.

Well
sometimes even when
you aren't 7,
things are rarely
all about you.

Crying on the couch,
face in your hands,
is everything all about you
then?

Is everything
ever
all about you,
even when you're alone?

When you are in
pain,
when you hurt,
when you are lost,
in your own broken heart,

is it really all about you?

Or do you wonder
how others will react,
what others will think?

Do you feel guilty?
Selfish?
Self-indulgent?

Is your own heart,
your own mind,
your own soul
ever focused on you
and you alone?
Competely?

Hearts need that,
I think.
That's how hearts
get fed,
with undivided attention,
with unconditional love,
with someone listening,
and caring,
and remembering

even if it's only you.

Why wait for
birthdays
to make it all about you?

Some people do it
every day,
of course,
and it's rude
but more of us,
I think,
find it difficult
to cry out,
"Me
Me
Me!
Pay attention to
Me!
It's all about
Me!
It's not even my birthday,
but give me
the gift
of your caring!
Let me make a wish
and blow out the candles
with my eyes closed
and imagine a world
in which I always matter!"

It doesn't have to be
just me
that matters,
but

include me.

Don't make it
always
not my birthday.

Birthdays are important
even when you aren't 7,
even if they aren't
on the day you were
literally born.

Any day can be
your birthday
if you need it.
You just have to ask
yourself
for permission
and say, "Me!"
and open a gift
and make a wish
and smile at the friends
who surround you
in the golden light of
the candles.



Note: The prompt was actually to write about "someone who didn't show up," and I thought of my dad often forgetting to send birthday cards to my brother, who was always crushed. It ended up going somewhere else, obviously.

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