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Red
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.
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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— The End —