Matador

I will not pretend to know what love is. 

Its meaning dances on my tongue,

Teases me like a matador’s red flag flapping in the wind. 

I am trying

Struggling.

It all hurts and bleeds;

I am left with black eyes and bruised ribs

And I am meant to call that love. 

My voice shakes.

I cannot get the words out and the tears burn hot against my eyelids. 

This wasn’t supposed to hurt like it does. 

I cannot figure out what it means to love nor do I understand what it means to forget. 

The matador grins slyly,

Softly. 

I plead for respite and yet

He flicks his wrist and the red flag flutters.

Reviews

[kentuck14]

How abusive our emotions can be at times. "I will not pretend to know what love is." A great opening line.
It sets nicely the stage for the interplay between the speaker and that "matador" that keeps teasing with the red flag of anger. A poem of extraordinary honesty. Keep up the good work.
Tom