Birthdays

I don’t know how extroverts do it—

stack their friends neatly like chairs you can just borrow from another room.

Mine don’t overlap 

unless it’s a birthday

or another special occasion

or if I force them to sit at the same lunch table.

There’s a version of me that would help you through your math homework,

even though I’m just as stuck

& then one who would drive to your house in the middle of the night if you needed me to,

& then one who would gladly grab dinner—

& the worst part is that these pieces of me all overlap 

& I can’t get them to agree,

nor do I want them to have to.

I keep listing people

like care has a limited capacity.

If I invite everyone,

it’s too many.

If I invite some,

It sounds like a ranking system I never intended.

It’s not about favorites. 

I like you all the same—that’s the problem.

I want everyone to know someone, 

because I can’t be everywhere at once. 

I can’t make sure no one is quiet

while I’m laughing somewhere else.

I feel strange inviting people 

I’ve never seen in the glaring sunlight

or heard giggle in the dark

but that’s not by design,

just by circumstance.

Every invitation feels like a translation: 

how do I say you matter 

without saying you were chosen?

I don’t wanna tell someone they’re not allowed in my living room.

I don’t want my birthday to feel like logistics, 

or seating charts,

or an experiment in social chemistry.

I just want cake,

& no one standing alone when I blow out the candles.