red - her lips tasted of wine and blood and all the pain she felt in her heart. she was driven by wild passion and survived solely on her intensity and strength. each breath she took was like fire; so absolute, so empowered.
orange - her hair was crafted from the bright ashes of a phoenix, kindled with streaks of gold. she always seemed to be her own lick of flame from the embers that burned in her heart to the coals that touched her soul.
yellow - her smile was light at your darkest hour, sunshine after a rainstorm. inspired by everything and nothing at all. she was the sun personified, the epitome of radiance.
green - her eyes were so deep and magnificent and ethereal, while still lit with puerility. she could look at you with those eyes and show you that she cared so passionately for you, no matter your mistakes or your faults.
blue - her skin drowned in an ocean of tears, storm after storm, each wave wracked her body. she trembled with heartrending sobs, each breath heavier than the last. her sorrow painted the depths of her, unseen to those who had not genuinely looked into her eyes.
purple - her organs were stained an ugly shade by the darkness she consumed. her hunger was insatiable. she filled her mouth with poison and swallowed it with a smile on her face. the air traveled from her bruised lungs, through her macerated throat, and out her smiling, stained lips.

Someone’s favorite color says a lot about them.

If the color they love is blue,
They could be sad.
Or happy.

If the color they love is yellow,
They could be egotistic.
Or creative.

If the color they love is red,
They could be mad.
Or overtly passionate.

If the color they love is green,
They could be jealous.
Or hopeful.

If the color they love is purple,
They could be immature.
Or covertly heartfelt.

If the color they love is orange,
They could be impatient.
Or adventurous.

If the color they love is pink,
They could be shy.
Or romantic.

If the color they love is black,
They could be depressed.
Or determined.

One color has many different meanings.
We can try to understand someone through colors,
Or even actions they do.

But we truly cannot know how someone feels,
Until we ask them.

hello there chellovecks and forellas
appy polly logies for the chepooka
for i am only a devotchka
begging for a malenky lomtick of jeezny

droogies and nadsats
everyone who owns a pair of ookos
listen up to
your humble narrator

bring me a pletcho platch
and a polyclef
to open up the sun.

Now see the beautiful sunset or the ocean blue
Fiery colours due abound of poems there are a few
I wish that I could write one, about that perfect hue
But nothing rhymes with Orange

Orchards stretch for miles, they never seem to stop
There nectar bearing fruit is one that’s hard to top
A fruit that justifies a sonnet, but might as well be rock
But nothing rhymes with Orange

How do I describe a basketball?
Or the bricks within my garden wall
The autumn leaves before they fall
But nothing rhymes with Orange

So the hardest line you’ll ever write
One to keep you up all night
So please tell if you might
What the hell rhymes with ORANGE?

It was orange -
spherical symphony of segments
I liked to
             cut
up,
      peel off the skin,
lick the surface
while you
       stared
and
       shouted
and
       clapped your hands

and called it Art.

We both devoured it
anyhow.

I spat the seeds into the air,
you waited for  
                         gravity
to catch them in
your wastebasket.

I noticed the sour
before-taste
    dripped into
sweet
    -bitter
so our fiction of
pulp
melted on the
tongue
into facts of juice
running down our chins
until we were
           hollow-hungry
no more.

Facts like
frightening
words -
you may decide which.

It was orange
      like
the globe
     of irrational truths
some people pray to.

Dropped out of a tree
       into our mouths
but we bit into
everything
       but
nothing.

It was orange.