The weekend's here with gentle light,
A time of peace, a heart made bright.
And as the hours softly sway,
I know your joy is on the way.

The morning breeze begins to sing,
A quiet hint of what life brings.
And in that breeze, I feel the sound
Of birthday blessings gathering 'round.

The sky is calm, the day feels sweet,
The world itself feels more complete.
Why? Because the time draws near,
When we’ll all shout and praise and cheer.

Just hours now, and candles shall glow,
With laughter warm and faces to show.
A weekend wrapped in celebration,
In holy joy and admiration.

My mummy, so dear,
Your birthday spirit's almost here..
And I can feel the heavens lean,
To crown you like a birthday queen.

This weekend blooms because of you,
A soul so kind, so strong, so true.
The stars themselves might blink and gleam,
Just to be part of your dream.

I see the joy before it lands,
Like flowers blooming in God’s hands.
A time of thanks, of sweet reflection
And endless love in your direction.

Though clocks still tick and moments wait,
My heart has passed through birthday’s gate.
Already singing, wide awake,
For all the joy your life will make.

The weekend comes just in time,
For a soul anointed, touched, so divine.
And as your birthday draws so close,
Know that you're loved the very most..

The morning breaks with sacred light,
A hush of joy, the skies so bright.
And in this glow, my heart takes flight
Remembering you, and all that’s right.

The dew still clings to waking trees,
Like whispered songs upon the breeze.
Each shining ray, so soft, so new,
Feels like it’s pointing straight to you.

The birds are chirping something sweet,
As if your birthday's song’s complete.
But still I wait it’s almost here!
The day we celebrate you.

Though candles haven’t yet been lit,
The mood, the joy, all start to hit.
I’m in that space where hearts prepare
To shout with love, “We’re glad you’re here!”

The gifts may wait, the cake may chill,
But in my heart, I’m dancing still.
Because I know what’s soon to be
A day that’s all for you.

I picture smiles and cheerful grace,
The way joy shines across your face.
The way God’s light surrounds your name,
And wraps your life in love and flame.

You are a light, so firm, so true,
And birthdays only magnify you.
So as the hours gently pass,
I hold this hope like morning glass.

The sky expands, the joy is near,
Your birthday glow will soon appear.
And till it comes, I hold the tune
In full anticipation, like morning’s bloom.

Let’s not sugarcoat it.
You didn’t protect me.
You didn’t question it.
You didn’t even blink
when she took my life
and signed it over to stone walls and locked doors.

I’ve been made permanent, Dad.
Not “just until things settle.”
Not “a term, maybe two.”
Permanent.
She made the decision.
She made the call.
And you?
You just stood there like a ******* statue,
held together with whatever spine she let you borrow.

And guess what?
You still don’t know.
Because she has been feeding you her version of reality
while threatening me into silence.

“You’ll make things worse.”
“He doesn’t need the stress.”
“You’re lucky we even—“

Shut the **** up.

I’m done being lucky to exist.
Done being silent so your wife can sleep better knowing that I’m far away,
tucked neatly into a place she doesn’t have to see.

She calls it “what’s best.”
I call it what it is:
exile
with a pretty brochure.

She erased me, Dad.
And you handed her the whiteout.  

You think you’re keeping the peace?
There’s no peace here.
There’s just you
living a lie so loud it drowns out
the sound of your daughter breaking.  

Do you know what it feels like
to be warned not to tell the truth
because you might not believe me?

Do you know how disgusting that is?
That I don’t even trust my own father
to choose me
over the woman who’s been gutting me
with fake smiles and cold silences since
I was eleven?

Let’s not pretend anymore:
You let her win.
You let her rewrite what “family” means
until I didn’t fit in the ******* sentence.

So here’s your truth:
I’m not okay.
I’m not “thriving.”
I’m surviving on scraps,
packing trauma into a dorm drawer,
waiting for someone to notice I never come home.

And since no one will say it
Happy Birthday, Dad.
Hope the cake tastes sweet
while your real kid sits miles away
eating silence.

Hope the presents are stacked high
while I unwrap another year of being invisible.
Hope her kids call you Daddy
loud enough to drown out
what you gave up.

But when the party’s over,
and the house is clean,
and she’s sipping wine on the couch
like none of this ever happened
I hope it hits you.
I hope my absence rots in your stomach.

Because I’m still here.
Still screaming between the lines.
Still writing you into every ******* word
because I don’t know how to make you
look at me.

So yeah.
Happy Birthday.

You got your quiet life.
And I got forgotten.

Another year older,
Another month tugging at the heartstrings.
So many emotions.
Happy, worried, sad, anxious, and happy again.
Everyday a toss of the cards.
I avoided the storms,
Wished upon a few stars,
And prayed to God with all might.  
I watched the movie screen and cried at the scenes.
Missed a few people who have gone on,
And looked back at the last few decades.
My life isn’t perfect.
But why would I want it to be.
At least I’m still here.

it was her birthday today
i wished her that too in midnight
I stayed up late just to wish her
she took her time but she replied “thank you”

tried to speak to her
her replies without soul
like forcing a new born to speak French

I had drawn a gift card and bouquet of flowers
intended to give her these but after the convo decided not to
wildflowers which I picked with my own hands
she is probably accepting some rare exotics

it’s cold and am deprived of sleep
the smell of flowers fill the room-reminding unrequited love
the gift card is up in flames bringing me warmth
I would’ve want her to have these
even if I froze to death afterwards, I only cared about her warmth

love and life both have lost meaning
all the things I thought about her
are evaporating faster than alcohol

I am poor to date her
rich enough to write about her

:) : this was her last message

Happy birthday, they say,
smiles soft and candles bright—
the noise of cake and laughter
trying to fill the empty space.

But sometimes,
all I hear is the silence of you not being here.

I laugh, and in that sound,
I hear a shadow of your voice,
a ghost in the corners of my smile.
Photos catch me smiling like you—
a flicker of what once was—
but the truth is you’re not here.
You won’t ever be.

I’ve waited years for the ache to ease,
for the weight to lift,
but grief doesn’t fade like that.
It hides in quiet moments,
sneaks in between the jokes,
and sits at the table with me,
uninvited but always present.

I watch my friends post their Father’s Day love,
and I’m happy for them—truly.
But a part of me just wishes
I could have had that too.

No one talks about how hard it is
to pretend moving on means forgetting.
My thoughts aren’t always of you,
but I think of you every day—
wishing you were here to watch me blow out the candles,
to laugh through the bad Christmas movies,
to open presents and be present.

Why don’t we say how hard it is
to be happy on a ‘happy birthday,’
when part of you is still somewhere else—
somewhere I can’t reach?

I burn my hands washing dishes at home.
Alone, it is lukewarm, cold at best --
So I will eat cake until I am sick.