I hate birthday’s. Specifically, I hate mine. I hate celebrating it because even remembering it’s my birthday does nothing for me. Nothing but cause especially painful and critical self-reflection and a feeling like I haven’t accomplished much. Like I haven’t truly become anything, or anyone, worth note. Of course, I’m still young, but considering people are earning Nobel Peace Prizes at 16, it’s hard to sate myself with that excuse anymore. I find myself indecisive. I find myself yearning, wanting, and desiring something only I can provide to myself. One day I hope to look forward to my birthday, that I may be proud.
I desire not to be what you want of me
Lord, I desire not!
Not to scream hollow words into empty pillowcases
I desire not to look into the void
Not to look, but to see
O’ do I desire!
Lord, do I desire
That I may draw up blanks when questioned on my influences
Do I desire to miss my mistakes
Lord I must not desire!
Desire to rise above my station
To free myself from the ramblings of this madman
I must not desire that which I must not have
Yet, I desire!
For you have made me imperfect Lord,
The Cardinals mask has fallen
I cannot pay thy tithes Lord!
Not but in Blood