Happy birthday?

Happy birthday?

A Poem by AllauraRose
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What is the point of celebrating our existence? Why do we celebrate people for no reason when they are still alive.

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Happy birthday...
But is it really something we should celebrate?
Why do we celebrate something that tells us we are closer to dying?
That we haven’t accomplished anything yet?

What is the point of birthdays?
To celebrate you growing up and having more responsibility’s and stress?
To congratulate you on heartbreak?
Or not getting into that college you wanted?
Well congratulations...

We spend so much money on birthdays to celebrate all the things you talk about at a funeral.
Maybe these are just your pre-funerals.
Getting others ready to tell stories about you when you aren’t here.
I mean isn’t your funeral just a birthday party not on your birthday?

So, do you really want to have a birthday?
A day to remember you while you are still alive.
I don’t think it makes sense, but I like the gifts.

© 2017 AllauraRose


Author's Note

AllauraRose
Hope you don’t mind me ruining your birthday.

My Review

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Reviews

Not at all oo! You never ruin my birthday. This is really one of the best. Thought provoking and reminding us that we are not here permantly. A person celebrated today might die tomorrow. Well crafted, AllaureRose. Expecting to read more of this kind.

Posted 6 Years Ago


AllauraRose

6 Years Ago

Thanks, I'm happy you enjoyed it! In some of my poems they are meant to be deeper and more thought .. read more
I agree about the gifts. However, the opposite, "Happy Deathday," just doesn't have the right ring to it. Also, you probably won't get a thank you note from the recipient.

Posted 6 Years Ago


AllauraRose

6 Years Ago

Well I wouldn't call it Deathday, but I don't think it should be as big a deal as people make it.

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174 Views
2 Reviews
Added on November 12, 2017
Last Updated on November 16, 2017
Tags: Birthday, life, death

Author

AllauraRose
AllauraRose

Raleigh, NC



About
A fifteen year old introvert who found a way to express herself. Some of my poems are okay and sometimes they are trash, just bare with me. I'm no Emily Dickinson, but I'm me. more..

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