He is your brother, he is your nephew, and he is your son.
Red didn’t ask for this curse, but the contents of Pandora’s
box came from Africa. He opened it because he trusted his lover,
but little did he know that trust was a thin line. And how cruel
of a punishment it is, cold as a sterile clinic and a hard doctor’s face.
He has a smile, he is kind, and he is caring. Because every
second we take for granted is an eternity that can be lived.
And when Red told his parents about the crimson gift, unwanted
and unable to be returned, they said to him, “Get out of our
lives, and that means Christmas as well.”
Red is white, Red is black, and Red is yellow. Because there
is more than one shade to this rainbow. Tired eyes with dark,
heavy bags long for acceptance. However, many are too afraid
to kiss him, let alone hug him. They say, “We don’t want to
contract what you’ve got.”
He is hated, he is despised, and he is damned. On their picket
signs is the face of constructed god built from scratch and
hypocrisy. “It’s the reason why Sodom & Gomorrah was torn down,”
they hiss. “We don’t need him infecting our angels, and a condom
won’t protect you from Satan’s wrath.”
But he needs love, he needs a cure, and he is the same as us.
Behind the medical records is a bone cage that holds a cardinal
singing songs of hope. Fragile, but strong, Red spreads his wings
and faces every obstacle in his way. Because Red is not weak,
Red is not pity, and Red is certainly my favorite color. 


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I have currently been busy with life and I will be re-publishing older poems. New poems will come. I'm always under construction.

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