purple like the sunset at night on trash mountain or the lake. The color of Harrods crayon that took him around the world. A bruise from soccer or falling. A faded scar. beauty. Violence is the typo that is a bad mistake.
Allison
The sky isn’t supposed to be violet. It can be a multitude of colors, from the darkest of oranges, to the brightest of blues, but violet seems to not fit. You look up into the sky and the only thing that comes to your mind is fear.
I like “Violet” as a name. The flower is also beautiful. Both are unique, pretty, and sweet. Aaaaand now I want to color with crayons because it reminds me of a violet crayon.
I have violet flowers, my room color is violet, my nails are violet and even my boogers turn out violet! but my favorite color is pink. :)
cadensolis@gmail.com
I had never seen a face which turned violet that much that it left me in shock and disbelief, someone from the restaurant rushed at the commotion and did a Heimlich maneuver on the poor man.
Her violet eyes were suddenly near his face, like she was analizing his soul. He couldn’t move, not because he was afraid, but because he never saw such beauty in somebody’s eyes before. it was like the whole night sky was in there, he felt himself fall for her instantly
Violet is a purpleish blue color. And is also the name of of purpleish blue colored flower.
cad
Those violet flowers look nice there said Larry maybe we should get more and put them all around the house. We could also put roses or other flowers around instead.
cad
The police use an ultra-violet to see footprints or handprints or fingerprints!
roses are red, violet are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you
mileninha.gost@hotmail.com
She smelt the perfume rise up from the crushed leaves under her feet before she saw it. Violet, the smell and taste of spring. Inwardly, she rejoiced to be back in the mountains, back in her home, but outwardly, she stayed composed. She wanted him to fall in love with the valley too.
Violet is a name I used to love when I was younger – I wrote mini stories about a girl called Violet and she lived a much more exciting life than mine. Of course I’m no longer in possession of those stories – I used to write them in little notebooks that are probably stashed away somewhere under other piles of books in cupboards at home.
Alice
The rose light of the dawn was just beginning to break into her bedroom windows when a shrill scream broke the silence. She fell out of bed and scrambled to her feet, bleary eyed. “What? Hello? What?”
The scream had dissolved into a wail that could only be her sister.
Oh.
Perfect.
Scarlet heartshed that spreads itself over the cashmere sunlight. A violet radiation, almost like a gunshot that pops smoke, the color violet spreads itself across streetlights. The color violet is almost a home.
a flower which grow in the countryside near the river and in the garden.
it’s a colur of some clothes
JUAN MANUEL
Violet. The color violet is often overlooked. It is mistaken for its cousin, purple. But violet is its own color, and has its own nature. My name is Violet, and I am my own person.
abby
She is blue. Always. She got a job and she got fired. She got another and she quit. She prays with hot tears and asks all the ‘why’ questions till we all join her disbelief. Hard luck? What is it? Some people don’t seem to win, ever.
jen
“Stunning,” was all I breathed.
Amidst the white and night, and where coffee’s pungent aroma rose from pots of chrome and black, you stood. My heart skipped before I even saw your heavenly visage, the tint of your hair had already intrigued me more than my heartstrings could manage. My blood ran from fire to cold ice in a matter of heartbeats and that breath I didn’t know I held gave me the reprieve of a thousand heartaches. Is this what the greatest Romantics meant when they felt the presence of their soulmate?
I always confuse violet and violent. It takes me an extra second to make sure I’m reading the word correctly. Violet is not violent at all. It’s not like crimson.
Well, the format required wasn’t known to me, I did my best though. Violet is a deep-purple, and one the spectrum of light, its unheard of, like-really-fast.
Garz
Within every garden, there is a flower, or there should be a flower whose bloom is the colour of violet. The colour brings about a great sense of calmness and optimism and should be available from within all locations to encourage this positive appreciation of nature.
Your eyes were violet. That was the first thing I noticed about you. They were so odd and unexpected that I could’t help but look twice. Your hair was next. It was long and unruly and honestly resembled a bird’s nest, so much so that I wouldn’t be surprised if I found twigs and leaves in there. It was the color of hay, and I thought it was lovely.
Natasha
Violet. My great Aunt. She had the most beautiful garden out in the country. I remember crouching down to pick the tiniest, most delicious, perfectly spherical strawberries, under the green-violet velvet leaves.
Brad
I like the color violet on my eyes. My favorite violet eyeshadow is called Sassy. It’s a vegan eyeshadow. Violet Chatchki is a great drag queen. She won RuPaul’s season 7. Usually I don’t like skinny queens, but I think she’s really talented. She has a really good aesthetic and she’s an amazing designer.
Violet was her name; a light and fluffy sounding name, as you would expect the owner of said name to be. Yet light and fluffy was the last thing that anyone would say about her.
Travis Croken
It’s been so long since I’ve written.
“Velvet violet lining” springs to mind… Poe’s description of the cushion on which he rested his head and regretfully noted that Lenore’s head would never rest upon again.
Her eyes sparked with determination, a bright violet light calling to me as a lighthouse to a marooned ship, desperate for land. I needed her.
i’m tired of this word
why do i have to see it again
i already did this once
so why is it here again/
perhaps the past words arent good
enough for this little space
so i’ll try again for this same word
and write in this empty space
the color of your eyes
and the color in your hair
paints the color in my heart
because you color when youre there
the color named by beauty
and the color named for you
the color that you’ll never see
because the color of it is you
“Do you like butter?” he asked his mother and held the buttercup to her chin. It glowed yellow from the reflected light and she laughed as she took the flower from his grasp.
“Of course, you silly dilly. You know I like butter.”
Later, they were playing in a field of violets. She lay down, in the grass and flowers, and suddenly her healthy complexion turned blue, from the violets’ reflected light. He looked down at her and felt a sudden fear that she had died. Again, she looked up at him and laughed and they tumbled in the grass.
Ever since that day, he held this image of his mother’s mortality in his mind.
sincerity had never been violet’s problem: she had a sharp tongue and a soft heart, and both of those endlessly tripped over each other in a fantastic race to the truth. truth was rarely blunt in her mouth… but somehow, her plump face did not anger many of her interlocutors – the virtue of being a small child, perhaps.
I had never seen Amber’s face turn such a shade of violet. It reminded me of when her daughter, Andrea, walked in with her hair streaked like the tail end of the rainbow. Like Roy G. Biv vomited onto her head, and the only color that wouldn’t wash out was the purple. But boy, was Andrea happy. Fourteen years old, walking in with those torn jeans and black Pink Floyd T-shirt, sporting that hyper-colored hairdo like there was no tomorrow, and now her mom, two years later, was emanating that glorious hue.
Belinda Roddie
Walking down the avenue on the hottest day of the year. I wore a dress with violets on it. You wore a shirt halfway unbuttoned, chest hair peeking out. Arm around my shoulders. The hot young guys on the street, blue-eyed gaped at us, wondering how the hell you scored a girl like me.
Ella Emma Em
Delicate veins
paint your wings
of silk and petal –
You seemed expansive in
your reach to the house
that would become
the epitome
of a home.
Oh violet.
purple like the sunset at night on trash mountain or the lake. The color of Harrods crayon that took him around the world. A bruise from soccer or falling. A faded scar. beauty. Violence is the typo that is a bad mistake.
The sky isn’t supposed to be violet. It can be a multitude of colors, from the darkest of oranges, to the brightest of blues, but violet seems to not fit. You look up into the sky and the only thing that comes to your mind is fear.
I like “Violet” as a name. The flower is also beautiful. Both are unique, pretty, and sweet. Aaaaand now I want to color with crayons because it reminds me of a violet crayon.
!
I have violet flowers, my room color is violet, my nails are violet and even my boogers turn out violet! but my favorite color is pink. :)
I had never seen a face which turned violet that much that it left me in shock and disbelief, someone from the restaurant rushed at the commotion and did a Heimlich maneuver on the poor man.
Violet was a sweet little girl who loved to play outside. Now, as an adult she works in a plant nursery. Her favorite flowers are violets.
L
Violet is deep as fuck
Her violet eyes were suddenly near his face, like she was analizing his soul. He couldn’t move, not because he was afraid, but because he never saw such beauty in somebody’s eyes before. it was like the whole night sky was in there, he felt himself fall for her instantly
Violet is a purpleish blue color. And is also the name of of purpleish blue colored flower.
Those violet flowers look nice there said Larry maybe we should get more and put them all around the house. We could also put roses or other flowers around instead.
The police use an ultra-violet to see footprints or handprints or fingerprints!
Sometimes I like seeing the color on you.
I looked at the patch of deep purple violets as I ate my picnic food.
roses are red
violets are blue
I wanna be in bed
and so do you
roses are red, violet are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you
She smelt the perfume rise up from the crushed leaves under her feet before she saw it. Violet, the smell and taste of spring. Inwardly, she rejoiced to be back in the mountains, back in her home, but outwardly, she stayed composed. She wanted him to fall in love with the valley too.
Violet is a name I used to love when I was younger – I wrote mini stories about a girl called Violet and she lived a much more exciting life than mine. Of course I’m no longer in possession of those stories – I used to write them in little notebooks that are probably stashed away somewhere under other piles of books in cupboards at home.
The rose light of the dawn was just beginning to break into her bedroom windows when a shrill scream broke the silence. She fell out of bed and scrambled to her feet, bleary eyed. “What? Hello? What?”
The scream had dissolved into a wail that could only be her sister.
Oh.
Perfect.
Scarlet heartshed that spreads itself over the cashmere sunlight. A violet radiation, almost like a gunshot that pops smoke, the color violet spreads itself across streetlights. The color violet is almost a home.
a flower which grow in the countryside near the river and in the garden.
it’s a colur of some clothes
Violet. The color violet is often overlooked. It is mistaken for its cousin, purple. But violet is its own color, and has its own nature. My name is Violet, and I am my own person.
She is blue. Always. She got a job and she got fired. She got another and she quit. She prays with hot tears and asks all the ‘why’ questions till we all join her disbelief. Hard luck? What is it? Some people don’t seem to win, ever.
“Stunning,” was all I breathed.
Amidst the white and night, and where coffee’s pungent aroma rose from pots of chrome and black, you stood. My heart skipped before I even saw your heavenly visage, the tint of your hair had already intrigued me more than my heartstrings could manage. My blood ran from fire to cold ice in a matter of heartbeats and that breath I didn’t know I held gave me the reprieve of a thousand heartaches. Is this what the greatest Romantics meant when they felt the presence of their soulmate?
I always confuse violet and violent. It takes me an extra second to make sure I’m reading the word correctly. Violet is not violent at all. It’s not like crimson.
1violet=Verily Input On Level Ephermarilly There
Well, the format required wasn’t known to me, I did my best though. Violet is a deep-purple, and one the spectrum of light, its unheard of, like-really-fast.
Within every garden, there is a flower, or there should be a flower whose bloom is the colour of violet. The colour brings about a great sense of calmness and optimism and should be available from within all locations to encourage this positive appreciation of nature.
Your eyes were violet. That was the first thing I noticed about you. They were so odd and unexpected that I could’t help but look twice. Your hair was next. It was long and unruly and honestly resembled a bird’s nest, so much so that I wouldn’t be surprised if I found twigs and leaves in there. It was the color of hay, and I thought it was lovely.
Violet. My great Aunt. She had the most beautiful garden out in the country. I remember crouching down to pick the tiniest, most delicious, perfectly spherical strawberries, under the green-violet velvet leaves.
I like the color violet on my eyes. My favorite violet eyeshadow is called Sassy. It’s a vegan eyeshadow. Violet Chatchki is a great drag queen. She won RuPaul’s season 7. Usually I don’t like skinny queens, but I think she’s really talented. She has a really good aesthetic and she’s an amazing designer.
Violet was her name; a light and fluffy sounding name, as you would expect the owner of said name to be. Yet light and fluffy was the last thing that anyone would say about her.
It’s been so long since I’ve written.
“Velvet violet lining” springs to mind… Poe’s description of the cushion on which he rested his head and regretfully noted that Lenore’s head would never rest upon again.
Her eyes sparked with determination, a bright violet light calling to me as a lighthouse to a marooned ship, desperate for land. I needed her.
i’m tired of this word
why do i have to see it again
i already did this once
so why is it here again/
perhaps the past words arent good
enough for this little space
so i’ll try again for this same word
and write in this empty space
the color of your eyes
and the color in your hair
paints the color in my heart
because you color when youre there
the color named by beauty
and the color named for you
the color that you’ll never see
because the color of it is you
“Do you like butter?” he asked his mother and held the buttercup to her chin. It glowed yellow from the reflected light and she laughed as she took the flower from his grasp.
“Of course, you silly dilly. You know I like butter.”
Later, they were playing in a field of violets. She lay down, in the grass and flowers, and suddenly her healthy complexion turned blue, from the violets’ reflected light. He looked down at her and felt a sudden fear that she had died. Again, she looked up at him and laughed and they tumbled in the grass.
Ever since that day, he held this image of his mother’s mortality in his mind.
sincerity had never been violet’s problem: she had a sharp tongue and a soft heart, and both of those endlessly tripped over each other in a fantastic race to the truth. truth was rarely blunt in her mouth… but somehow, her plump face did not anger many of her interlocutors – the virtue of being a small child, perhaps.
I had never seen Amber’s face turn such a shade of violet. It reminded me of when her daughter, Andrea, walked in with her hair streaked like the tail end of the rainbow. Like Roy G. Biv vomited onto her head, and the only color that wouldn’t wash out was the purple. But boy, was Andrea happy. Fourteen years old, walking in with those torn jeans and black Pink Floyd T-shirt, sporting that hyper-colored hairdo like there was no tomorrow, and now her mom, two years later, was emanating that glorious hue.
Walking down the avenue on the hottest day of the year. I wore a dress with violets on it. You wore a shirt halfway unbuttoned, chest hair peeking out. Arm around my shoulders. The hot young guys on the street, blue-eyed gaped at us, wondering how the hell you scored a girl like me.
Delicate veins
paint your wings
of silk and petal –
You seemed expansive in
your reach to the house
that would become
the epitome
of a home.
Oh violet.
IT IS THE COLOR OF ELISABETH TAYLOR’S EYES
It also means very angry.