Who is she? Where does she come from? Why does she rear her ugly head every year? Birthdays are supposed to be fun, right? Not for me and I know I’m not alone. Every year I want to stay in bed and cry. One year I actually did. On December 31st I woke like any other day but this morning I didn’t reach for my phone. Instead I reached for Rupi Kaur’s The Sun and Her Flowers. I opened to a page at random and read the poem. i do not weep because i’m unhappy i weep becaus