Today I accepted my birthday

I flexed my bravado

like a frayed muscle,

terrified it might snap.

Turned compliments to ash,

hands that reached out

into ghosts.

I thought I was untouchable,

but it was fear that kept me whole,

a rusted shield

welded to my chest.

I smothered birthdays,

a cigarette ground underfoot,

their sugary hum

too sweet, too sharp.

Faces lit by candle glow,

flickering with love

I couldn’t hold.

They kept lighting matches

I never dared to strike on my own.

But today,

I let the light in.

The tang of smoke,

the wax pooling

into tiny lakes of heat.

The silence after the song

settles in my bones,

not a burden, but a balm.

Scared to need,

I refused the gifts of others.

Scared to be seen,

I turned away from the mirrors

of their kindness.

But now, I stand still.

I let the candles burn through

the armour I built from shame

and call it warmth.

Let their voices hum around me.

Let the sweetness coat my tongue.

I see it now:

the hands weren’t chains,

the words weren’t traps.

They were lanterns in the dark,

held out to guide me home.

I stand still,

letting the smoke linger

in the hush of the room—

accepting all the light,

at last.