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September Rose Jul 2018
Oh sickly poisonous flame
Darting back and forth
I hear you call my name
It's not what they think, for what it's worth

One slip of the finger
And a tingling sensation
Smells of gas linger
Now for use of personification:

Its seems that you love me
For you never let me go
I feel pitiful in your embrace
And it seems that you know

You always take control
And oh how I'm fascinated by your flame
Skin swells and pain holds
In this endless torture game
King Panda Mar 2016
it takes guts
to run red into
the sun
it takes guts
to mollify
I write you
to watch myself
I write you
to watch my
purple go

run red into
the sun
run red
it takes guts
to march into
the sun
It takes guts
to mollify

I wonder what
you’re thinking
I wonder if you
want to watch
my purple go
I write you
poems to
watch myself
I write you
to run red
red cowgirl

I love you
I love you
red run
into the sun
I write you
poems to
watch myself
I write you
poems to
watch my
purple go
Suicide Girl Oct 2017
Red as the blood gushing from her wrist.
Purple from the bruises on her body as the beating
Green is her eyes yet she doesn't want to see
Yellow is her body from the **** her father impacted her
She wishes that she had a normal life
Her body aches for love, as when her father whispers "I love you babe" she cries
Her mother calls her fat and **** while she beats her
She slits her wrists while she cries
Shes now dead as she was hanging by a thread
Tbh something I made up in art randomly
Ozioma Ogbaji Apr 2015
Like the heavens and the skies
Like the deep seas so wide
When I am confident and true
When I have faith in you
Colour me blue, colour me blue

Like the royals of Great Britain
Like the noble in truth and ambition
In my wisdom, dignity and pride
In my mystery and grandeur so wise
Colour me purple, colour me purple

Like fire and blood
Like the intensity of a flood
In my strength and passion
In my desire, love and emotion
Colour me red, colour me red

Like the warmth of the tropics
Like the sun, my daily tonic
When I am determined and creative
When I am happy and attractive
Colour me orange, colour me orange

Like a smile so warm
Like joy even in a storm
When I am cheerful and happy
In my intellect, when I am savvy
Colour me yellow, colour me yellow

When I am all these and more
When I am despised and adored
With the colours of the rainbow
With the colours that make me glow
Colour me colours, colour me colours
Onoma Oct 2018
there's this purple

gala at the end of time...

which never seems

to begin.

the moon goes thru

all her phases in the

blink of an eye.

which makes the floor

feel like it's ebbing and


attendees break out into

soul-stirring croons about

shedding lifetimes of

loved ones.

water goes to wine, wine

goes to water...and desire

is a food continually served.

though one night my nerve

stuck to me, and rattled.

i began overturning and smashing

everything in sight.

everyone smiled...and the damage

was cleaned.
Bullet Oct 2018
Passing out love
Eyes closed
Seeing the world
In a view of Red

Waking up dead
Eyes opened
Seeing the world
In a view of Blues

The way these people
Belittle the energy
That can bring peace
They have mixed feelings
Seeing the world
In view of Purple

Stripped of caring and worrying
Exchanged for depression and disguises
Running from a red loved past
To obtaining blues of the present mind
The world viewing in purple
But my eyes can no longer
Hold a hue
Elise Jackson Sep 2017
crime, staring competitions, tears.

these small things that lead us further
into the fog, closer to the moths,
attached at the hip, nothing new.
nothing blue, always red.

your guitar rips through the
navy skyline, alerting the stars of war,
violet mornings creeping over the
trees as sleep envelops your eyes.
i've dreamed of something like
this, but i got more than i asked for.

i'd never go back.
i'd never go back to that place where you
don't exist, the dark, the damp, the treacherous.
becoming a threat, was the purple leaves and blinding snow.

but the next morning was lined with amnesia, we both forgave;

but we'll never forget.
Semicolon Jul 2018
And when I planted
Your best loved flowers on your grave,
I knew I missed you.
And every time I see a bouquet of tulips, I secretly hope it's from you to me.

© Semicolon
Bret Dec 2018
Loving boys and girls is hard.

When you are stuck choosing between
loving blue or pink more,
you cannot help but wonder
why purple is not an option.

Perhaps it is because
purple is the colour
that melds the two together;
the one that is neither composed more of
nor the other.

Perhaps it is because it is the one that strangles me,
grabs me by the throat and throws me against the wall
until my skin is laced
with its beautiful tone.
It beats me senseless
until I am no longer aware
of who I was before,
nor am I willing to remain in its grasp.

For this,
I will be pressured to choose either

It is the colour that symbolizes
being ostracized for picking one over the other
whilst providing you with no other option.
will you pick pink to fit in
or blue to gain yourself privilege?

When you come out to people
and they tell you that,
“You don’t look ***. Are you sure?”
“You are just curious. You’ll get over it.”
“Wait? So you are actually ***?”
The fear lies within the lack of answer
to any of their questions,
and the absence of a ****** expression
to ease their fears, wonders and concerns.
I will cover the purple that I once displayed with pride
to diminish the need
for any further questioning.

When you need to decide between
bringing a boy home
who is a different image of “perfect”
than what your parents envisioned
and therefore only rewards the two of you
to a dinner of questions, shifty eyes and ridicule
for simply trying to love
bringing a girl home
which warrants you
to sit on the floor like a dog at Christmas dinner
whilst begging for approval
only to result in you
trying to convince them that she is only your friend.

Loving pink is making phone calls
from miles away,
phone calls whose minutes get tracked
and questioned.

“Are you sure that you are nothing more than friends?”
They ask with such trepidation in their voices
that I cannot help but wonder
what would happen if I told them the truth.

Loving blue is never being trusted
to do the right thing with your own body,
to be questioned with every decision
whilst he is picked apart, chewed up and spit out.

“He’s not rich enough. How will he sustain the way that you live?”
The words obviously mean to be jokes
but I am not laughing.
I never will laugh.

“Well, you were straight a week ago. What happened?”
“I thought you had a girlfriend. Are you straight again? I knew that it was a phase.”
Loving pink and blue is hard
when you know that
you will always be torn apart
for trying to love.

Purple is struggle,
and marginalization.
Lucky for me,
it is my favourite colour.
Deborahlee Jan 13
in my stairway stumble
body and step collides

the bangs and bounces
meet the rug burn slides

as inner chaos flounces
my aches scream inside

rocking in silence

...with no one to hear
twice in as many months...
the last bruises just healed.
When I think of you,
I think of the color purple.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact
That people say purple is royal,
Or maybe it's just because purple is you.
The grass may be green,
But people walk all over it.
The sun may be yellow,
But the sun goes down at the end of each day.
The sky may be blue,
But the blue fades to black.
Every other color I can think of is this way.
But purple...
Purple is royal.
Purple is a beautiful color;
Like the hues of that in a rare sunset
Only showing on the most elegant of evenings.
The sky is blue.
The grass is green.
The sun is yellow.
But purple is you.
That's why I love you.
THIS IS NOT ABOUT BARNEY!!! I`ve had 10 people ask if it was about that ****** purple dinosaur!!!
Ceida Uilyc Mar 2018
Subtle misery amber soot
Soothing its way numbing mute
Dopamine Aye!
Purple they say it shows up. It's purple I hope that pops down.
Purple tangled the haiku rules, not me.
Seanathon Aug 2018
To the cutest girl
   Amongst all the lunks

Purple, white and black as the sky
   (As you know)

Hard work and a trusty Honda
   Such things will get you anywhere in life
   Be it an outcome which requires this
   Such slender *****

Enjoy your night!
Gotta love *****.

Between your breath
in my hair
the weaving of sunlight
by the window,
the sky’s audacity to resemble
that of a painted sorcery
violin legs intertwined—
darling, i am
Blow a gentle kiss on my skin,
but forget, I shall not,
that this all but a dream.
Let me lament
a morning dressed
in apology.
Let me toss and turn
to a quiet soliloquy.
What is there to grip
but a ghost
molded by the loneliness
of the night.
What’s it like to be the lonely?
What’s it like to be the night?
Seanathon Sep 2018
I'd forgotten here
That the most beautiful place in the world is round

That the future I see beyond the horizon Is now
Above this place
My hometown

I'd forgotten here
But I remember now
Staring at that purple sunset. Looking back at me.
Richard Barnes Jul 2018
I live in the light of a purple sun,
waters deep,
oceans black,
hurricanes  glow red with their own light.

****’s madness rules with no mercy in sight.  

Wretched souls rise with the tide  

then swallowed whole by the purple sun’s light    

The soul cry for peace but receive only carnage and hate.

What god approves this madness?  

Greatness born and dies in filth and mud. 

No honor to the dead and the living becomes a disease.
CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
the packer slew
biding merchants
and frontmen
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
dot the busy causeway

hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
I can't calculate your next response

You're boring me to death

never surprised to see me
well it seems you never see me at all

trying to give you my heart
not my soul

I know how to speak
I can't read love

I only know how to write it

flowers in a crystal vase

I'm filling up empty holes

I'm throwing away all of my secrets

he says
don't ask me for favors

It's impossible to ever tell him

I don't want to be honest

I don't know how to be

I'm tired of living traumatized
of it all

I'm trying to give you
my heart

waiting for your response
CK Baker Dec 2017
sages and brethren
gather, and share
and slowly souls
are bared
their tempered voices
and quiet eyes
reserved of judgment
with passing smiles

moments blend
in current trends
opinions wide
and reflections deep
the concepts
and irregularities
once murky
now clear

they prioritize
and familiarize
that staunch resolution
of generation net
will remunerate
and illuminate
through the checkpoints
and formal reviews
through the purple curtains
and open stage
nothing tainted
or bitter
left for taste

cause its they
who’ll plant the seeds
the captains of commerce
healers and jugglers
the coaches and councilors
negotiators and compromisers
the kings and queens
hustlers and hellcats
(who've all found their way!)
let us tip our hats
and salute them
Mary Gay Kearns Oct 2018
In purple checked dresses we are confronted
Behind a piano sits ‘Miss Creak’ head of house
She has one bad eye, unfixable from childhood
But plays beautifully perched on an oakwood
And fabric stool. This is our secondary school.

On the wall above the piano is a framed print
‘Madonna of the Meadows’ by the artist Bellini
I pushed a drawing of a couple intertwining
Under ‘her’ door knowing she never would have
But a boy may have felt affection for ‘that’ affliction.

Here we all ate meals, did fashion shows and sang
I was glad my dress was purple not orange or red
Went better with my blue eyes and blonde hair
The rest of the school diveded into coloured checks
To represent Shakespearean female characters.

Just opened in Wandsworth a new comprehensive
Serving all abilities, behaviours and nationalities
Cordelia, Beatrice, Juliet, Katharine,
Portia, Rosalind, Olivia, Viola a rather unsuitable
Vision for such an uptake of adolescent froth.

Miss Creak was, kindly, I wish I had always been.
Based on my own life and true.Mary
Did anyone know the school.
Samantha Cunha Dec 2018
a bygone
do what
you like
far out
my mind
you're still
in my sight
L B Jul 2018
I cannot pick a color
I love more
Each is thrilling
and some seem
the breath of life to all the rest
I loved my crayons
They became my escape
from misery
the contrast to any given day at school

Any excuse to use them all
or just one
to avoid that lowest reading group
the monstrosities of math
If I couldn't sing it
there were no letters in the alphabet
I could not tell you A from Z

But you see--
That day was
That was all that mattered
I loved its richness and its depth
its mystery
its royalty
King Midas would have liked it, I was sure
almost a religion
Vestments of the priest
in the times of expectation
It is the explanation for

the last of day

As a five-year-old
I drew my love for purple
and outside all the lines-- off onto the desk
I was so proud!

Miss Platt, so horrified

What is it
I was trying to do?

I didn't know....

I was suddenly ashamed
and frightened too
This may have been the first time I actually touched down in reality.  Been trying to take off again ever since.

The religious times of expectation were Advent for Christmas and Lent for Easter.
The uniVerse Jun 2018
Beauty lies bereft and bound
it cries for help but utters no sound
mascara kisses fade from your lips
etched by lovers worn fingertips
purple rings around sullen eyes
the broken skin it never lies
fists of thunder make not the man
nor the swift strike of back of hand
a thousand apologies can never repair
the displacement of a single hair
for she is not an object for you to own
she is a Queen that deserves a throne
and if she allows you to enter her chamber
it's also her decision if you should remain there.
her beauty is boundless
and cannot be tamed
all those who try
should be shamed

***** I have shared my poems on this website now since 2015 and this is my first daily, it has been a privilege and I appreciate all the lovely comments <3 *****
Larry Potter Sep 2018
You were singing the blues when I met you,
Singking your heart of misrule,
Into an ocean of second thoughts.
The saddest note on your table;
A pen unwilling to write,
Its ink afraid to swirl.

I took the seat in front of you,
As I opened my soul like a blank page.
Your hand began scribbling again,
Writing our next days with better hues.
Until you decided that my page was full,
That there's not enough space for your stories.

Now I'm stuck with these scripts of red,
With your handwriting all over it.
These traces of broken promises and misgivings,
I'll try to erase it all or rip it out.
As I open a new sheet to another stranger
You play your songs of blues again.
shaun Aug 2018
layers upon layers on the wall and i've bared all -
peeling the wallpaper
fresh start, better days
moving forward ?
the purple underneath is more than a colour
an emotion, time -
reminder -
you once stood here, too
wondering who the **** plastered these walls
the cracks are taller than me
but a mere fraction of the size of the ache i feel in my chest

half of you remains in the room next to mine,
well-polished & cared for,
but the small wooden box fails to reflect your big heart
or the hole left in mine
i will continue to talk to you
until my mouth dries up
or i lose my speech -

you are home
very messy, just like my thoughts
Jessie M Jun 2018
To live so much inside
this unmanageable threat
follows me always
so much to hide, but
so much to share, so much to give,
but none will ever see.
Even when it may come out-
it is just to be ignored.
This burden sits forever in me,
with silent perseverance,
but why is it needed?
I am the secrets.
I am the hidden darkness,
I am loss.
Within my own.
There is so much held within.
It concaves over in lucrative paste
upon the equilibrium of time.
They pile up,
time grows on,
As do I, for now.
Monday, December 4, 2017, 11 pm, Rm 108, Merion, PA.
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