Red is the colour that reminds I am alive,
That my heart beats against my will,
That despite this numbness and darkness and stillness-
I am not dead.
Red is the colour that reminds me of valentines,
That screams love and passion and forever,
That despite whispering lies and hate and short memories-
I am loved.
Red is the colour that reminds me of anger,
That defens and blinds me,
That despite building up and staying and makeing a home-
I am calm.
Red is the colour that means STOP.
It tells me to STOP pretending,
To STOP being calm,
It tells me to STOP being what I am not.
Red is the colour that means many things.
Red is dangerous.
Hateful.
Angry.
Loving.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
Daddy says join the football team.
Daddy says answer me when he talks.
Daddy says be the best.
Daddy says be a man.
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But I wish not to be a footballer.
Or any kind of sportsman.
I wish to write.
I wish to read.
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As much as I long for the words.
The ones that form in my head.
They cannot be spoken.
They cannot be heard.
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Being the best is what I want.
Yet it is so hard if you know not what the best is.
I am not the best.
I am never the best.
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How am I to be a man if no-one will show me what a man is.
My father is a strange man, one who beats his son.
My father is not a man.
My father is not a man.
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Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC