I woke up to my birthday like, nah, not today,
I called in to nothing, my plans were to stay.
No cake, no confetti, no chorus off-key,
just coffee, pajamas, and radical me.

Text messages stacked like a slot’s angry beep,
I set them to mute, let the blessings all sleep.
I love you, I see you, I’m touched by the cheer,
I also said screw it, I’m ghosting this year.

Vegas was bruised through blinds with purple light,
Downtown hit snooze, the Strip kept it bright.
I stretched like a cat with a know-it-all grin,
then marched to the kitchen to pour trouble in.

Coffee with spite, my legal sin,
cream, not-right, a villainous spin.
I sipped like a bastard rehearsing a laugh,
and cracked open fate with a quantum carafe.

Steam made a halo, a shimmering ring,
extra as DragCon with rhinestoned bling.
It tasted like birthdays that bought a fake god,
like cinnamon wish with a glittery nod.

A balloon-animal serpent slid out of the fizz,
winked with a squeak like, “Bitch, mind your biz.
Hey baby, I’m concierge, let’s dip from the herd,
if ‘celebrate’ feels like a four-letter word.”

I checked my pajamas, I checked for my keys,
blessed both my kneecaps, said several please.
Timeline is late, hissed the latex snake guide,
I shrugged like a dealer who watched luck slide.

A starship appeared with bisexual lights,
pink, blue, and purple like restless nights.
The captain was software with holy-grade sass,
“I’m SASS-Nine-Thousand, sweetheart, class.

My pronouns are they, also diva and boss,
I run on caffeine and undiluted gloss.
Your birthday avoidance pinged red on my board,
you opened Zero Year, you accidental lord.”

I said, what the fuck, I just wanted a brew,
not a multiverse crown and a galactic queue.
They purred, that’s the ritual, rebel delight,
say maybe to cake and fate says, all right.

We blasted past comets with lashes and shade,
meteors tipped me for service well-played.
We docked at a court where time-witches plot,
a dance floor for justice, a bass-thumping spot.

You’re late, said a fringe with a calendar frown,
You’re early, said cuffs that ticked up and down.
Precisely, said robes made of itemized sheets,
your schedule is chaos that circles and repeats.

Skip candles, change destiny, loopholes unlock,
the Sash of Not Yet, the No-Party Rock.
I said, I want naps, a bagel, a pod,
they said, that’s a leader, you stubborn young god.

They crowned me with rumors, caped me in air,
confetti tasted like not giving a care.
First trial, the Cake That Insults, take a bite,
frosted with truth, sprinkled with spite.

You charming-ass BITCH but allergic to we,
you flirt with your rest then ghost it with glee.
You bargain with doubt till your brain throws a fit,
you babysit boundaries then wonder why shit.

I forked up the roast with theatrical chew,
said some of that’s true, and some of it too.
Second trial, Sign Who You Are off the clock,
ink like a thunderbolt, steady as rock.

Third trial, the Hydra of Corporate Hell,
seven heads yapping that synergy sell.
I said MOTHERFUCKER, resign from my sight,
salted its LinkedIn, the beast said goodnight.

Fourth trial, a union of trolls under roads,
we haggled for chairs that respected their spines and their loads.
Hazard pay granted for jump-scare shifts,
glitter on contracts, morale quickly lifts.

Fifth trial, the Scales doing petty-ass math,
I bribed them with therapy, cleared out the path.
You’re valid, they flossed, then filmed a short dance,
witches took selfies like, “Balance by chance.”

Back on the ship, SASS opened a store,
patches for timelines, naps by the score.
We toured constellations that flirted and winked,
a nebula said, “Happy un-bitchday,” and blinked.

A zaddy asteroid moonwalked in boots,
a robot yelled YAS through its vocal roots.
No sex today, just cosmic delight,
filthy with glitter, clean with the night.

Planet of Lists where they rank every pain,
I ranked number one, that nap on the train.
Karaoke crater, I sang about rest,
then whispered the bridge to tuck in my chest.

Crocodiles in berets with couture crocodile chic,
taught me to dumpster-dive wisdom each week.
Unicorn crossing guard raised a small sign,
yield to pedestrians, also to shine.

Planet HR with a sphinx in a tie,
said name what you need without trying to lie.
Two breakfasts, a mic, a mat, and a chair,
a health plan that covers an anxious affair.

She stamped it “Approved” with a glittering seal,
cried holy shit, this is radical real.
We drifted through nebulas scented like cologne,
memories dancing, but I walked home alone.

A dragon appeared with a Yelp-review roar,
one star for self-care, do hustle some more.
I fed it the spreadsheet of candles unburned,
it choked on the math and spectacularly turned.

We crash-landed Fremont all chrome to the bone,
slot cats were purring, the dice had cologne.
The mayor looked exactly like Doubt on a chair,
said govern your oxygen, rule like you care.

I swore a small treaty with sugar and pace,
with jokes to the face and rest in its place.
We threw a parade for declining the fuss,
no cake stealing rides, no pity-bus.

Clowns in tuxedos took pratfalls with pride,
the mime gave a TED Talk with eyebrows wide.
SASS DM’d, your reign is relax, not attack,
you taxed all the bullshit and got paid back.

Witch bitch said go, but keep this decree,
not celebrating is sometimes the key.
She wrapped me a gift made of breathable air,
a coupon for nothing, delusion to spare.

We belly-flopped home through a glittering hole,
I kissed my own coffee and scrolled like a troll.
Texted a thank you, a ghost, and a toast,
promised a party in timelines not close.

Lit one small candle for nobody’s gaze,
whispered a wish that would scandalize days.
Let naps be the currency, joy be the scheme,
let art pay the rent and calm run the team.

Somewhere a star did a split in the blue,
a troll signed a bonus, a dragon withdrew.
The cake left a review, five stars for my nerve,
Best Un-Bash Ever, the frosting had verve.

Cheers to unbirthdays with quiet-ass noise,
to queer little monsters and low-maintenance joys.
To soft-masc confessions that rhyme when they can,
to telling my inner CUNT critic to scram.

I still love a spotlight that melts velvet night,
still punch a page till the syllables bite.
But some days I’m king of a nothing-ass bed,
with SASS-Nine-Thousand asleep in my head.

See me in Vegas with nothing to prove,
probably saving the cosmos with groove.
Or maybe I’m learning the bravest decree,
a monarch of fuck-all, unbirthday, and free.

If you insist on a chorus for me,
sing happy un-bitchday in minor key.
Clap with a ladle, kazoo with a scowl,
laugh till the Strip tells the thunder to howl.

Because humor is sacred and naps are a right,
because saying not now is a glamorous fight.
Because birthdays are gorgeous and sometimes a chore,
because both can be true, and that’s what I’m for, you glorious TWAT of an alarm clock, now snore.

🍒🎰🧃🌈🫦🎲🫦🌈🧃🎰🍒

Unbirthday monarchs still gotta buy mics, bless the jar, keep the beat alive.

👇

🍒🎰🧃🌈🫦🎲🫦🌈🧃🎰🍒