My soul's graffiti

Purple is smeared

on every backroad in June.

Thistles dignify ditches everywhere.

I am first to spot

shy violets on lonely hills

&

clovers breaking all the rules.

These are the ethics of wildflowers:

Be beautiful.

Be useful.

I cannot help but wonder,

if foxglove is good for the heart,

and lavender brings me peace,

what kept secrets

do the other blooms hold?

Lilac perfume cures me every April.

She casts a violet spell that lasts til

the new moon spills her inky enchantment

and

iris unfurl overnight.

Me and spring agree,

there can never be enough purple

in this blue green world

I mark my calendar for the monet fields

that warm the dirt

where the summer corn will grow.

I steal a spot to lay

in someone else’s field.

I trespass to claim

what’s always been mine.

I picnic in the purple

and stay til dark.

I’ve never loved another color

and never will.

Blue taunts me in the ocean.

Green lures me in his eyes.

Yellow sometimes casts

her warm golden spell in sunshine.

But if you cut me open

you’ll find

only her lavender name

painted on the inside

of my brown skin.

My soul’s graffiti

is only ever royal.

I wear purple to work out.

I mix and match plum and lilac,

wine and raisin,

mulberry and mauve.

I feel faster and stronger somehow

wrapped in amethyst.

Any shade of purple

is my favorite dress to dance in.

I love to show up

lavender and twirling.

Lavender and twirling.

Lavender and twirling.

I’ve never wavered

(like the others).

No one loves her like i do.

I’m faithful

and jealous.

When others try to claim her,

I close my eyelids,

and memorize the color i see there.

Proof

of just how much

purple loves me back.