They called you the
Red planet.
Red like love,
Or blood,
Or one of those things,
Or are you red like red onions,
Dissected on white paper,
Sitting in the same room as everyone else,
And making them cry.
Red like falling asleep in the dark,
Being pulled apart by dreams you don't remember.
Red like thin scratches,
Red like concert lights,
Red like frustration,
Red like me saying
There are bits of Mars
Down here,
But it's just dust,
And no one sees it,
Or meteorites,
And things are blown apart.
Or maybe I'll say it's red like love and blood and things like that,
Like the others have done.
YOU ARE READING
Planets
PoetryPoems about each of the planets (and the sun and moon- they're not planets but just roll with it)
