My red flag
is I still don’t really believe in my worth,
(I thought I did)
and that’s what’s stopping me
from telling you the truth.
Red-faced
at the idea of being caught red-handed,
catching feels
for you.
It’s not that there is any reason to be ashamed
of finding you attractive. You’re not the problem.
It’s that I can’t bring myself
to imagine you wanting me
for anything more than what I’ve already offered.
And if I can’t believe
a man who would submit his body and mind
to my whims (without a safeword) could actually want to be mine,
I’m not even sure what could convince me.
It’s been days.
Am I still your red herring, keeping you from
giving her everything?
You’re still
the red tape in my way.
In search of dopamine, distraction,
I do silly things. I chase pleasure.
I catch it, and still
my ledgers are in the red.
None of this fills my cup like you.
Online shopping. I argue that both robins
and Irish whiskey
remind me of my mother.
I argue that I’ve been on a journey
of trying new distillations
for a couple of years now.
But I know I wouldn’t usually spend quite this much on one.
If I knew what was good for me,
this is where I’d red light.
I love the burn of liquid amber down my gullet,
but this pain in my heart is more than I can bear,
and yet,
for you I will.
I will bear it and I tell myself
it’s because I respect you
and I don’t want to get in your way.
But the truth is,
I’d prefer to believe I gave you up
than that you didn’t want me.
Redbreast
By
Spilled Ink from the Vault 