Spinning out from
An undetermined center
Spines that invite
Me to feel
Making a point
At my prying fingertips
From smooth to prickly
Quaint you are
When your fragrance
Murmurs a tone of earth
A lotus of the desert
Silently beaming through
A plump body
©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
A leisurely withdrawal to tranquility,
The sun, she descends.
Signifying an end,
Yet also a beginning -
New start, new change, new opportunity.
Gaze upon the sky spread before you like a canvas.
Mother Nature hand-paints tinges of each hue,
Mellow watercolours from periwinkle to scarlet.
Each day an ever-changing embodiment of her aptitude,
A fresh spectacle of allure.
Halflight turns to scenes of soft dusk,
Tiny opals of stars embellish the stratosphere,
The moon now smiles his spectral lustre.
Even a nirvana remains hollow in your absence -
In beauty, I reminisce,
It's lost, without you.
they stained the back deck today (with a hard to match 7 periwinkle)
400 square feet of knotted pine (in a striking rivet sequence)
red ant drivers (who can forget those little ******)
caked fir needles & feather cone
bug hologram & cedar moss
graffiti crack & cut joist
wheel rut & pick
pike stain (s)
and two of
its former pins
the erratic 9th stroke the
side kick (and his sloppy dullard)
fell sadly in a cacophony of sick laughter
anxious peckers, poinsettias, grub box, rail stems
lacewings (womanlike in their task), third door down windows
old ergonomic chairs (so highly touted in the checkout isle at Lowes)
all for not, I guess ~ seems they never reviewed the Homestead Manual on Fine
You, my garden of Anemone;
of periwinkle, plum, and mauve.
A fragrance of Lilacs; for my springs and summers.
A snow's aroma of a rare, rich branch of Daphne
Fenced by shrouds of Lavender and Sage.
Adorned with Irises and virulent Vervain.
The Verbena that consumes me
As I yield to it's amethyst.
Anemone for her complexions, Lilacs and Daphne for her grace, Lavender and Sage for her appeal, Irises for her beauty, and Vervain for her poison.
Written with a pleasure of knowing someone for 24 hours.
To Krista & Alexa: A Special Thank You
Love is something the cosmos, even in their infinite wisdom cannot fathom.
Love is the bleeding periwinkle of twilight.
A moment; fleeting and seemingly unattainable.
An ache so embedded within your consciousness no amount of togetherness can subdue it.
Romeo and Juliet know that ache.
But could even they understand what it's like to see the heavens in the eyes of another?
Payback for payment,
Petty paltry peril,
Primrose periwinkle petite girls,
Petting potbellied pigs,
Petrol pounding in pistons,
Pending papers piling up,
Pens polling poll takers,
Petty paltry penance,
Paid by the piper.
For a piece of peace.
Yellow Daffodil: Protecting and still. Encouraging on the mountain, encouraging down the hill.
Red Carnation: Vivid aspiration. A candle incinerate. Nature inspirate.
Blue Periwinkle: Glisten and twinkle in dew. You made me love to read and read in love. Happiness from above.
Three flowers of my colorful life. It wouldn't be, without primary.
there are flowers growing in the curves of my ears
and honey dancing off the tip of my tongue.
there are roses that tint my vision with petals of pink
and hyacinths dye my skin with a faint color between forget-me-not and periwinkle.
there are vines that creep up through the gaps in my ribs, soft limbs of green to curl a cage around the rice paper butterfly in my chest.
there are flowers growing in the curves of my ears,
and yet I can still hear every word you say.
every sting, every snarl, every bite until the line between humanity and bloodlust is blurred with the plague painted in the air.
your words hurt the thread and needle butterfly, beating its wings faintly against the thorns cracking my bones into splinters.
until the flowers wither at the corners, mourning the loss of every leaf.
until the honey tastes of vinegar, acid burning at the walls of my mouth.
until the roses turn dusty and the hyacinths are more eggshell than cornflower.
until the spun glass butterfly beats its last fight against the growing infestation.
all that’s left for the flowers to do is drink up the leftover gasoline and feed off of the light of your apocalypse.
flowers won't stop words. flowers don't stop much at all.
but butterflies can’t live without flowers.
from a secret admirer:
i remember the first time i saw you;
you were wearing that
soft periwinkle sweater i love,
the one that hangs off your curves in the same delicate way
you choose each word so carefully,
like each one holds the consequence
of each broken heart.
i hope one day i can
break down those walls,
show you how beautiful you are to me.
sleep well, la mia musa.
i remember the first time i saw you, too;
you were wearing your favorite navy shirt and i couldn't help
but notice your ever-present beauty
past the hurting,
past those chocolate eyes that hide
everything you've pushed down for so long.
i would love to be
la tua musa.
la mia/tua musa- italian for my/your muse
based off of real life...
No boy will ever
want to **** me
if I forget
to put on makeup
in the mornings
lips red as Eve's forbidden fruit
succulent enough to
cuz my nose don't
look so My-Big-Fat-Greek-Wedding
when it's caked in highlighter
if I have short hair
because short hair means
I'll look too masculine
in the ninth grade I
had a pixie cut
I could feel
my light burning out
(I never did believe in myself)
if I'm not thin
two finger diet
have you seen
the lovely girls
on the internet
they'll get first access
to his ****
if I'm a *****
cuz how will anyone know
what you've really
got to flaunt
when you have to wear
a uniform to school
frumpy plaid kilt
white polo shirt
every button a barrier
like the notches
on his belt
around your neck
every casual day
I wear fishnet stockings
with push up bras
I'm already a D
cuz I gotta get that D
for being a ****** somehow
if I don't shave my
three days before high school graduation
I bought a thong
and got my first Brazilian wax
even though I didn't have
still don't have
but I wanted him
to be my boyfriend
thought I should be prepared
thought maybe when he saw me
blue Converse peeking out
from underneath the tulle
I'd be his
Belle of the Ball
but how could any boy
ever love me
in all of my
how could any boy
ever love me
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!
(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Cobalt, periwinkle, turquoise, baby.
Name a color and I have been it.
Some days it’s more pastel,
others’ it’s midnight.
— The End —