An Attempt at Poetry Oct. 20, 2021

I am a lover of red

But then,

There are other reds.

The ones I hate.

The ones whose waves alone are big enough to knock me down


Sure, the term Mean Reds came from a movie

But if you aren’t Tiffany,

Or you aren’t the one having Breakfast at her place

You will think I’m just talking about a color


It doesn’t matter to me what you think anyway

These mean reds are killing me

And when they are killing me

Nothing matters anymore

Not even you


I simply cannot care.


And why?

 Because they don’t let me

They don’t let me care

They don’t let me cry

They don’t let me laugh

And worse, they don’t let me talk to you


I hate these reds

The mean ones

I prefer the blues.


With blues,

At least I can come back to me

And you can come back to our bed.


But you understand me, right?

You get me

You get my mean reds

That’s why you are sitting there,

On the floor

With your bare ass

Waiting for them to let me talk to you.

by Amanda Nechesa 41

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