signs and red flags may differ but yours remind me of my mother
the first red flag i should’ve noticed was how you share a lunar ruler with my mother; if she was never able to understand me and not criticize the creases in my mental state and disregard my sentiments for she couldn’t comprehend them, why did I lead myself to believe you were any different? why did i spare my trust for you? was it because you said “you can trust me,” and i did?
the second red flag was how you described someone else as ‘intense’; a word commonly affiliated with my moon sign, a word selected—if not designed—to rule out my emotions as overbearing, when the truth remains that i just choose to feel it (unlike you, unlike my mother, how i wish you weren’t like my mother)
the third red flag was the one i waved for myself; when i said i shouldn’t judge people from their zodiac signs, but that alone was a sign, because hadn’t i become fluent in a language so uncommon to men would i possess a greater power, you made me underestimate myself, you made me believe that i had to cast aside the only thing i could put my confidence in so i wouldn’t listen to my intuitions about you.
the fourth red flag was
the fifth red flag was
the sixth and the seventh and the eight and the ninth red flags were how i thought about you for months; how i wanted to know what it's like to be in close proximity of your beating heart, but i had been, though somehow it wasn’t enough, it couldn’t convince me you were human and you were only conditioned to be nice in order to get what you needed and again, you’re just like my mother.
the tenth red flag was how you took advantage of my kindness; how you saw me as weak and mistook my giving self as someone who wouldn’t shout when they get trampled, and you pushed your tendencies onto me, like my mother’s horoscope that read “be careful of forcing your will onto your tender-hearted child”
the first white flag, and I hope will be the last, rose with me as i awoke from my slumber, carrying this poem inside my head, and i felt like crying all over again, i’m tired of justifying people using logic, i was made of equal parts of thinking and feeling, but today I couldn’t care less if my writing is weak or if i'm acting out of character; i admit i’m hurt, yet no matter how hard i try i could never make (the both of) you feel.