You’re a blemish -
a blatant,
bold,
brash reminder of nights spent brawling.
You’re a bigot -
correct,
in every way,
in your opinion of me.
You’re a bright red lie on the side of my neck.
Imploring,
Inciting…
Infuriating.
You admonish to the
petulant population of prudes
what we were,
what was.