birthday

this year gifts me a bottle of

stones to swallow. if they are

soft, i sink my teeth into the 

smooth grey and chew slowly. 

if they are solid, i consume it

whole and press a finger to the

lump from the outside. it bulges

but it does not hurt. it sits and 

it dissolves slowly. i close my 

eyes and dream of painless 

lessons, i run my hands up the 

side of my neck and inhale fumes

of red wine to make the process

quicker. this year thrice tears the

lids off my eyes and tells me to 

see until no truth remains to be 

found. it slips a birthday candle

into my hands and tells me to 

hold it to my chest until i feel 

warm again. i drag my palms over

the stuttering flame, and it is 

warm even though it peels off 

the skin of my fingertips and 

sends them to hermes. the wax

melts like a star falls from the 

sky, holds my wishes in its tears.

the stones i have swallowed, the

birthday flames—i accept it all 

on this day, this birthday. it 

flickers, it weighs me down. it 

scorches, it keeps me under. i 

take it all today, i take it all and

i thank it for all that it's done, 

all that it's done, and all that i 

will become.