Misfortune

Author's Note: This poem is a bit personal, so try and refrain from rather harsh reviews, I'd still appreciate feedback though. This poem has a purpose beyond posting it here. I just needed your guys' help for any little mistake such as grammar and punctuation. And if there is too much repetition with certain words, just comment. Thanks!

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The day I turned 9,

I noticed the glamour in the air.

The complete and utter

excitement hanging.

I saw how there were

only 8 candles on the cake;

you said because candles

only come in packs of 8.

I smiled and giggled, just like you.

You said it's my last year

being 9, only having one digit.

-

The day I turned 11,

I saw only 7 candles on top of the

vanilla flavoured ice cream cake.

You said that during my brothers birthday,

the 8th candle melted too short.

I nodded and blew out my

7 candles, wishing that

I still would have 7 candles next year.

-

But this year seemed

to last an eternity.

It seemed to drag on and on

like the sleepless nights that proliferated.

I noticed how I stopped

smiling and giggling that year.

I felt the solemn air with my fingertips,

all the same time I had a blanket over my head.

Thinking that maybe it would deafen

the constant bickering and

the sustained ringing of glasses

shattering against the floor.

-

When the year I turned 12 came,

I thought that I had gotten used to

finding cans of beer on the counter.

I thought that maybe if I just

stopped thinking about it and

started ignoring instead, that

I would be able to sleep at night

without sweat beading up on my face.

But to my misfortune,

I still jumped when I heard doors slamming.

I still felt the solemn air with my fingers

that now had nails chewed down.

-

As I turned 13,

things started changing for the better.

That year, glasses stayed in cabinets,

doors were kept open

and counters were clean,

as if the rings of beer

never dwelled among them.

I noticed how I slept soundly at night.

I could dream and wake up to

songbirds and the smell of coffee.

But I never forgot the single note

that the glasses once sang.

-

I reached 15,

I realized dreams don't last forever

and that I was so very foolish to believe.

Broken glasses appeared on the floor once again;

as if they were caged too long and found freedom,

but like you, they didn't see how delicate they were.

The fractured glass was picked clean and discarded.

I'm coming to think that maybe that's exactly how you feel.

But maybe you feel more like

that 8th candle that never made it.

I can't tell.

Needed for too long, or not needed enough.

It came to my attention that I never was bold all along.

I recognized how easily I turned up my music

to submerge the yelling and slamming.

It all felt too familiar, but with the feeling,

along came the somber tinge in the air.

-

Nights began to lengthen once again.

You were right about one thing.

I yearned to have a one digit age.

I desired to be 9 once again.

Wishing that cakes still had 8 candles.