In Memory of My 7th Birthday
On my 7th Birthday I was slapped
in the face three times.
Piñata: Purple and pink— my little pony themed.
All the kids lining up and lining up,
loud cheering waiting to pull this
hanging thing apart like they hadn’t eaten
a sugary sweet taffy in decades.
As I reached my turn at the front of the line,
a demon meets my eyes—
her smirk and laugh after the swing, the swing
that lashed out onto my fresh 7 year old face.
My aunt took me to the kitchen
for an ice cold bag of peas.
Gifts: When we opened gifts— I think
what can get better than this:
Two decorative K’s with glitter. Two?
It was not until later I learned that my family
grew old and is now breaking apart into two.
Now: My eyes burning with red from the spring falling
and falling as that is what naturally came.
Now I sit here pretty with water building in my eyes
and a sore face eating my cake.
Once birthdays were full of different
shades of pinks, and the blowing of candles, is
just another year in a world that turns
more grey by the day.