R is for Red
A color so deadly
What a medley
Of self-hatred and filthy
Love
A color so calling
Telling me
I'm ready
For Love
A color so prominent
Shines brightest
When doused in a bucket of
Love
But a color so hidden
I call for it daily
With sharp metal edges
And with smooth pink ledges
Of my erasers
This form isn't
What I'd call love
It just isn't
What I'd call fun
But it's still is as Red
As what I'd call Love
-D.P. (It's only good when you don't know the bad side as well as I do)
YOU ARE READING
This Cluttered Mess I Call Poetry
PoetryThis will be quite the journey. I never was all that good at writing poetry in an organized fashion, I usually just ended up with a bunch of sentence fragments on a page. I do believe I will get better, though. Some feedback would be nice since I'm...
