"indigos" poems
live life in warm yellows
when the sky is a dark gray and the clouds are a loveless black
live life in light pinks
when the trees are dying browns and the flowers are wilting ebonys
live life in bright blues
when the waters are a wild taupe and the sand is a rough onyx
live life in the colors of life;
for life is exquisite
but to see such radiance and beauty,
one must be appreciative and live life in warm yellows
reds,
oranges,
greens,
blues,
indigos,
and violets.
life is full of color, but one must be able see that to truly enjoy living
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC
Bipolar is not just
swinging madly across a spectrum
of deep blue to fiery orange without
being stained by the indigos and greens, yellows and reds in between.
Bipolar is not just
a season blessed and a season cursed
on a cycle of happen, rinse, repeat.
bipolar is not just
Loud uncontrollable chatter
laughter that bounces off the insides of your head
Or
earthshattering sobs that give way to
teardrops that are waterfalls.
bipolar is not just
wanting to rove our hands over the
planes and curves of
every body we happen to find ****
bipolar is not just
an amalgamation of wounds
in various stages of healing
each with an ugly story to tell.
Bipolar is just
so
hard
to deal
with,
(sometimes).
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
As the violet of day
draws to a close...
Witnessed the dwindling
vermillion sun,
being swallowed
by the horizon.
Ever so slowly,
seconds stretched...
This moment here...
Captured...
and
froze.
Brushing off
the indigos
and
blues.
of the past,
Whilst I shed these
scarlet tears.
Burdened with
unfounded speculation
and fears.
Gifted the
lease of bravery
but I know...
it wouldn't last.
A final skirmish
between
night and light.
My crimson wings
spread to greet the.
green evening air.
Feather and wind.
spoke to each other;
quivered as if
the same story
they shared.
A conversation
that ended quickly before
both took
flight.
To the
highest heavens,
leaving a
trail of leaves
from days of
yellow...
Flying past the
blushing orange cheeks
of
sleeping clouds.
Evading the beckoning
of
night's curtains
and
shrouds.
Into the sun,
I would go.
Beyond world's end,
I would follow...
To find you
where the universe
would run its course.
I'd gladly soar through
spectrum's grain,
Through
unfamiliar realms
and
warped new planes.
Why?
Because
blood red
rubies
pump
through mine
and
garnets
flow
through yours...
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
At the sound of my name, I see the faces
turn and smiles of many friends;
Queen Sue of Ruikruya in her lilac silks,
Queen Sarita of Khaikar in orange silks,
Queen Deb of Daegeral in magenta,
Queen Kim of Geniael in creams,
Queen Robin of Naeneiana in periwinkles,
Queen Fawn of Yuamor in red-violets,
Queen Dawn of Khesian in dandelion-orange,
Queen Jugnu of Enuryn in jade-greens,
Queen Yidna of Puhan in indigos,
Queen Cne of Phelyra in turquoise,
Queen Xaela of Lonusea in peach,
Queen Ayumi of Wadia in tan-gold,
Queen Sheila of Naizzuzia in cornflower-blue,
Queen Stars of Yurithireatha in green-yellow
✿⊰✲⊱✿
King Edmund and his wife in matching
forest-greens attires,
King Omni of Khaniel in silvers,
King Emeka of Ghalali in white,
King Devon of Monait in blue-violets,
King Fugue of Thavia in blacks,
King Yacov of Igrador in olive-green,
King Joseph of Eaqellurene in bronze,
King Fredrick of Emirinait in mauve,
King Rob of Balan in sea-green,
King John of Khesian in melon-red,
King Aslam of Ikaesa in deep plum,
King Brandon of Huarean in ocher,
King Kikodinho of Izugalla in taupe,
King Jobira of Zavalon in orange-red
and many many more.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
And last but not least, King Paul of
Luciuscemi himself in emerald-and-gold.
He wears his favourite emerald green
jacket with ruby buttons, bright gold
embroidery of suns and lions; his sleeves
stitched with pearls and rubies to match
the red sash across his chest; his trousers
black as are his boots, but even they have
gold laces.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 6:17 AM UTC
I found my way back
back, to that place I go to
When I cry
When I sleep
When I die
High in the atmosphere
into worlds.
I have my own hide away
no one can find me.
I've watched the universe
spin slowly.
Change from dark to light,
night to day,
night to day.
I've seen caves and creatures
roam the planet.
Lush green trees
ripped from their homes.
Giant animals
fall to the ground.
I've called upon the archangels for protection
from the darkness that has covered the earth.
I've fallen out of my hiding place
and landed in the darkest of nights.
Sun that seems too bright.
Nights that seem too long.
Haunted by words that will
never
never
ever
fade.
But yet, I've always return
to my spot in the sky,
to watch the evolutions,
revelations, the nightmares
and the miracles.
I've watched our
Mother
Father
God
destroy and rebuild.
Destroy and rebuild.
I've seen the most beautiful things.
Even the city lights
look like fireflies illuminating the planet
from here.
I've found beauty in everything.
Every word.
Every taste, smell, touch.
Every third eyed sensation.
I am not omnipresent.
Only...
present.
I glow a soft shade of purples and blues.
Indigos.
All shades, with a white crown upon my head
pouring out the purest of white lights.
My head tilts back as I pray for salvation on earth.
Peace among men.
An awakening.
The earth glitters with hope.
I sit and wonder as I mindlessly play
with the token around my neck.
A ring for prayer.
A reminder of greatness.
I gently allow myself to fall,
sink slowly through the atmosphere
like I am drowning during a sunset.
Tragic, yet beautiful.
Again, down, down.
My wings know not to save me.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
When I met you, I was a draft.
An artwork to never be complete.
My eyes of charcoal
My veins of graphite
No color flowed through me for I was
Lifeless.
You opened up to me
You redesigned my thoughts.
Your paintbrush stroked a bright blush onto my cheeks
You turned me into
Bright pastels
With glorious indigos
Overwhelming scarlets
And mysterious lavenders.
You kissed me in a backdrop of
Forest greens.
You created scenery for
Every emotion,
Dressed me with rainbows,
And completed my blank spaces.
You turned me into a masterpiece.
But before you could sign your
Glorious painting
You realized
You could do better pieces
And pastel was over rated anyways.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
i.
under a flaming bridge
blue islands,
sky-stream of
light, as the tranquil
waters unfold,
dream of
visionary seers
and haunted rooms.
gold sun running
like a tide,
pads of echoing cloud,
reflections like
mirrors on
the hollowy
water.
ii.
oil on canvas
pond of daydream,
water wrapped in love
and flower.
sunken, bird of grey
wire, fallen stone,
rippling ghost.
iii.
flower of ghost,
ink lady of sapphire
melting and sinking
like lanterns
in a chine,
where the night
wanders and the stars
lean against the sky.
iv.
watery isle,
rivery summer golds,
trembling pond,
flower of the dragonfly
flower of white sun.
v.
shadows in the leaves
monet fire of gold,
strange indigos,
violet sky,
water-dragon of the pond
water-dragon of the flowers.
Jan 12, 2017
Jan 12, 2017 at 2:58 PM UTC
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
passion would be where magenta and orange kiss the horizon at sunset,
joy would be the yellow of my socks every easter sunday that i can remember,
and melancholy would be just another shade of blue.
i told him,
i am not done with you yet.
three weeks post breakup,
we shouldn't feel as unfinished as we do.
like, in the ridiculously complicated narrative of he and i,
the author got up one day,
scribbled a quick ending,
and then set the novel on fire.
i read an article in an obscure magazine
about Shelley Jackson,
an artist
who got thousands of people
to tattoo a singular word
from a story onto themselves,
and then sent them back to their scattered existences.
maybe that is what this is,
another scattered story.
another vaporized narrative.
i can feel it in the air,
but not pull the phrases together.
it's like trying to hold onto smoke.
our story slips through my fingers and gets in my eyes.
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
my ribcage would look like a Jackson *******
my head would be a paintball arena.
i am so full of indigos,
and mustards,
and crimsons,
that Van Gogh, himself, would dip into my palette
and claim to have never seen such beautiful sadness before.
*i don't know if it hurts because it still matters,
or if it matters that it still hurts.*
i feel the frenzied ache of creation in my gut.
i am not a painter,
but my mirror is showing me
the immaculate collection of brushstrokes
i have become.
a few weeks ago,
i was approached by an artist who offered to paint my bruises.
to collect my contusions with watercolors.
what a beautiful intention,
to immortalize the growing pains,
memorialize the bumps along the way,
to make something permanent
of these perpetual transitions.
if we were to assign emotions to colors -
my pride would be gold-plated and rusting from use, like my grandfather's watch,
courage would be the pure green of every bud that has dared to grow through concrete,
and love?
love would be prismatic,
like spilled oil on asphalt.
a rainbow one moment,
vanished the next.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
the sky's flowers are the
february stars that brood
like a crashing sea.
moon against moon,
the indigos of the night
wind and unwind.
who listens when the
bright beams tremble?
who listens to the grey night's
powerful song?
the sky's flowers are the
slow river of clouds that
flow away from me,
little paper islands
puffed out like chinese lanterns.
only the stars and the
clouds and the moon,
the boughs beneath, withered
and gaunt, start to dream...
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
sleep was the only sanctuary, was a
flower on the water, was the moonlit
ripples as night gathered her stars and her
promises, her indigos and golds.
i wasn't sure where the images would
take me, i could not surrender to them,
or they to me, my soul wrapped memories
into clouds, drifted with them and the
sadness that was the poetry today was
a song with so many myriads of water.
the water that filled with longing,
the water that poured into love.
Sep 17, 2025
Sep 17, 2025 at 3:26 PM UTC
Salt rocks and lollipops
Gemstones and Zen
Spellbinding wizards
and dragons that eat men
Lightworkers and Indigos
Heart chakra crown
Don’t block kundalini
you’ll surely break down
With Ohm in the house
like it or not
Theta beats Beta
No judgement or thought
Malas and Mantras
to the Seat of the Soul
dissecting wavelengths
to uncover the whole
Ankhs and crosses
With fire and white light
Circle of crystals
bring spirit into sight
Mystics & healers
heed the cosmic call
extend love to our planet
to save us all
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 12:46 AM UTC
on the steps of the notre dame
i lost my sense of color
every moonbeam through the
cracked walls of the House of God
danced around me like blue gypsies
performing a ritual upon
every ringlet of hair on my head
in the catacombs of paris
i lost my sense of touch
every skull feeling like silk
dead calcium caressing
the flesh beneath which
my bones were moving
alive and restless
beneath the arc de triomphe
i lost myself
the curve of stone caving in on me
like a Parisian Goliath
and I, a madman David
names of fallen soldiers
engraved upon the walls
breathed back to life
from dust they have returned
they reach into my cerebrum
their stone fingers pulsing
with the hymnals of war
to meet with the battle
of indigos and crimsons coursing
through every nerve of my anatomy
behind the eiffel tower
i lost my art
paris lights beating down
a beast sleeping through the
tides of eulogies and odes
its orphans have to offer
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
Within you is a mysterious universe, you're
Dipped in global gravitational force
Voluntary sufferer of wanderlust bursts forth
Indigos feel such empathic remorse
Never a moment wasted of course
Although dimensional ascension tore
Through every possible window and door
We built to protect our mystical lore
Beneath the floors of your endless war
I hold akashic relics above my inner store
Timeless, I am not a minute after or before
The frequency of a rushing rivers' roar
One of many chakras you can explore
Reincarnated spirits will wash up on shores
We are here to raise the earth's vibrational core
A mixture of violet and turquoise pour
Into this biological state I was made for
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 7:07 PM UTC
You are not visiting me
You are staring at murky terrain
Which underneath holds a hallow husk
Turn around in your five inch heels
Make your way back home
If you yearn for my presence
Look into the infinite whirlpool
Of indigos sapphires and celeste
Wave to a mass of white wisps
Remember that I’m always with you
I’m the squeak from your shoe on a rainy day
To instill everlasting confidence
I’m the splash from your cannonball in hot July
To inspire extraordinary inner youth
I’m the generous breeze that blows the same night
To remind you of compassion
I’m your one piece of hair that stays out of place
To show you that imperfection is angelic
I’m the excess of softness in your cotton jacket
To comfort you in dour times
Remember that I will always be your anchor
I will be the reason your Facebook goes blank
When there’s still schoolwork to be done
I will be the flat tire on your pink mini
During that dismal drunken night
I will be the espresso between
Those extensive college hours
I will be that dazzling glimmer
On the ring that he picks out
I will be the tear in your honey-cinnamon eyes
When you say your vows
I will be the one to whisper “grow”
In your unborn child’s ear
So don’t ever go back to that wretched place
You are not visiting me, you never will
From this moment, until
The end of your convivial journey,
I will be visiting you
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
"where love is a song settling in the night"
you were the softness of feathers
and the harsh cadence of grief,
you were the sky's frail mists
and its glittering pools,
in the warm indigos of summer
i welcomed you home,
the sea with its engine pistons
played loud harmonics,
it wasn't the noise but quiet
i wanted most, the way i wanted you,
star silent, drifting like a boat.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
We're literally verging on death and no one even bothered to properly orient us on what it would be like.
There's the West Valley Fault, ready to strike a fatal blow that will make buildings crumble and set an entire city afire. There is always the Tokhang, a ruthless method that could practically annihilate and gun down anyone through gossips and word of mouth. There's the brewing tension between the North Korea and the US, the possibility of nuclear war and bioterrorism breathing at the back of our necks.
Earlier today, a friend of mine witnessed an accident. A death, I hazard. Broken bones and crumpled body. A loud explosion, a worker coming face to face with electrocution. He fell from the roof of the footbridge, she said, near Session road. Mortality is easing up on us, she said.
So before any of these befall on us -- any of these dooms -- as it inevitably will, I would like to ask you to go out with me. We'll go anywhere, anywhere at all. Everywhere, nowhere, wherever we want. We'll talk and dance and scream and exist all at once. We'll build bonfires and watch the stars and roll under the moon beams and in silence and anticipation, we will wait for the arrival of the morning light.
We will savour the last sliver of our days and we will hope. We will carry the splinters of our bones and we will find our way out of all these harms, into sea mists and sunsets in indigos and golds. We will never cease hoping. We will go on living and with each breath we draw against everything that happened to us, each beauty we make out of our sorrow and uncertainties, we will mock this grey, grey world.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 1:25 AM UTC
Close your eyes.
What do you see?
Darkness, maybe.
Or do you see colours?
Fluorescent , vibrant hues of wonders;
Dancing under your eyelids.
The sun, sending warm tangerine waves into you.
The moon, kissing you goodnight with rich inky indigos and blues.
Cover your ears.
What do you hear?
Silence, maybe.
Or do you hear voices?
Expired conversations that replay differently each time.
****** retro punk tunes you can't remember the names of.
You send yourself letters when no other sound can be heard.
Your address is never forgotten and nothing is left unsaid.
You don't need light to see.
You don't need noise to hear.
Just look and listen ,
and you will feel.
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
from the foam come
uncupboarded hoary-eyes wide,
once more, too
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 11:09 AM UTC
bodies familiar in the hues
of a dying day
in the shadows, in the shade
blacks and grays,
indigos and jades
whispers muted in the last
gasps of light
our language,
words knit into the night
our vision, monochromatic --
your breaths,
the moon,
my static
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 9:32 PM UTC
i ache to be beside you,
cat-like i stretch out,
i curve into your corners,
unravel your avenues like wool,
tender and surreal i carve
my name on your lips,
in the last of summer’s
indigos and fire, slumbering
in the now damp grass,
i feel your love, the shadows
and the softening golds, the
honeyed fever of your touch,
ripples of blue water,
tides of an impossible
sun,
you light me like a lamp
an electric blue-ink canvas,
tireless like the engines
of the wind that bid us melt.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 3:07 PM UTC
"where love is a song settling in the night"
you were the softness of feathers
and the harsh cadence of grief,
you were the sky’s frail mists
and its glittering pools.
in the warm indigos of summer
i welcomed you home,
the sea with its engine pistons
played loud harmonics,
it wasn't the noise but quiet
i wanted most, the way i wanted you,
star silent, drifting like a boat.
Sep 29, 2024
Sep 29, 2024 at 1:47 PM UTC
I found myself
Staring into an ancient rythym
The mustang narrowed its eyes within my ribs and pounded on.
Waves of machine thunder
Broke against my mind,
Washed away with my consciousness,
And played there
Like spent dandelions upon an autumn breeze.
In that maelstrom of indigos and ether, lightening split the void
And I just fell...
My layers and lies, suddenly too thin to keep,
Fell away exposing the wilds of my dreams. Refracting my every wonder unto the waters of time that spilled there in eternal complexity.
And then? she simply blinked.
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 1:27 AM UTC
I have found you,
but in your eyes, I'm not seen.
I may be different,
but you don't have to be so mean.
I know of my abilities.
I know of yours too.
Just show me something.
Let your indigo light flatter my features
and caress my soul.
It's not red or coral
or navy or white.
We're indigos and nothing compares.
A rare breed, is what we are.
A rare breed of "kids"
We've been here before, we already know better.
We see signs of greatness and glimmers of power.
Don't underestimate us,
for these indigos are anything but cowards.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
The clouds overlap
Into cities of bridges
With rivers of indigos
Painted in the sky, as the
Evening begins, early now
Autumn has come.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC