I’m not a poet
But you smell like
Those overused blue violets
And red roses

Not too hot,
not too cold,
I like purple
because it's bold.
It's royal, it's pure,
it's a daydream sky;
while purple and black take me back,
the watercolors dry.

I used to like blue
like typically boys do.
Calm, a primary color,
your favorite flavor, too.
I like the blue of jeans,
and the blue of a summer sky;
I like the blue of these little pills
that motivate me to try.
-But blue is too strong:
a frozen twilight leaves you bitter
as you march through the snow
protesting, but Mama didn't raise a quitter.
Plus blue comes in many shades -
indigo, teal, more than you'd believe -
and it's hard to think
while a crowd cheers for their favorite team.

My favorite team is red;
I see passion and pride
in this jersey I'll wear
long after I've already died.
I like red because its
shades grow richer
as you taste something
intoxicating like liquor;
the way it paints
those curves of desire
makes you wonder
if you'll ever get any higher.
-But I don't like red
because of his car and his truck,
and this blanket of mine
that he's never tucked.
And a sky dripping red
ignites a burning fear
like it's soaked in blood
and the Lord's tears.

So purple is mine,
and I cherish it like gold.
As violets bloom,
I see the truth like a secret untold.
Blue and red come together
and purple glory reigns;
I am a paintbrush
whose color never drains.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Everybody knows
That this isn't true
But everybody doesn't know
That my love for you
Had a maximum of two
Consists of me and you
Nothing red
Nothing blue
Our love is like an airplane
It flew smooth
But our love is inexistence
So it just flew
Flew by you

roses are red
violets are blue
but we both know
that’s not true

Roses are red
but violets aren’t blue
they’re violet which
is a different hue

plus, roses are red
but poppies are too
and poppies are better-
they remind me of you

poppies are red,
but what is blue?
I’ll get to the point
before I go coocoo

Poppies are red
violets aren’t blue
I just wanna say
I love you

What does it mean when someone's favorite flower is violets?
Little clusters of dainty purple bloom sprinkled about,
forgotten or unseen by most among vast beds of clover.
Hunting fingers search for four-leafed omens while
deer feast on the rest, leaving room for dandelions their
long silvery necks stretch to take the spotlight, left alone
until impatient lips can blow their prayers into the midday breeze.
But, violets? They manage to survive, away from preying eyes.

She dyed her hair purple,
though not all of it.
She wanted to keep some of herself.
She didn’t want to erase everything.

She dyed her hair purple,
leaving some of that mousy color.
The purple was violets
like her favorite flower.
She was shy,
but now she would look bold.

She would stand out amongst the clover.

She dyed her hair purple
and bought all new clothes.
She donated much of those
childhood remnants
and took a trip to the thrift store.
She searched through the past,
through the castaways
and found her new image.

She chose how she wanted to look.

She dyed her hair purple
and tried new things.
She went on walks through the woods,
laid in the hammock at night
to watch the stars,
to catch lightning bugs
in the summer,
to draw in the sunlight,
to read in the grass,
write down the stories in her head,
and dare to be herself.

She dyed her hair purple
and kids at school thought she was weird.
But she didn’t care.

She dyed her hair purple
and her parents didn’t like it.
They thought she was going to do bad things.
But she didn’t.

She was a flower child,
a child of the night,
and true to herself.