In revising I tried to repeat adjectives as little as possible. I adjusted the wording so it flowed the best, was the least awkward and made sense to have a color at the end of the sentence.
When you look at me I feel yellow.
The sun shines a brighter orange.
Rose petals beam a deeper red.
The sky reflects off the ocean and both become a beautiful blue.
I feel as royal as the silkiest purple.
And when you look away, I feel black.
But sometimes when you look through me I feel black.
The rays of the sun have lost all yellow.
I wish I could draw a life without you using Harolds Crayon of purple.
All the Lantanas lost their vivid orange.
The smooth waves of the ocean start to crash and thrash and lack all blue.
Inside me, anger and rage swell hot red.
My heart pumps faster, faster, faster. The blood flows all over my body like lava that’s burning red.
In this moment, it doesn’t matter that we aren’t as definite as white and black.
Fireworks shoot across the sky rejoicing the rarity of this blue.
My brain is empty except for the bursts of lighter yellow.
Infrared light would give us a reading of neon orange.
The sky becomes a color new to this time of day and now it’s my favorite purple.
You make me feel more rare and special than when Queen Elizabeth I forbid anyone but royalty to wear purple.
I feel as iconic as Marilyn Monroe wearing lipstick shining red.
Unique and puzzling are the similarities I feel with a word that no other words rhyme with, orange.
I’m as much of a necessity as the TVs in the ‘40s needed black.
Seeing, talking and being with you makes me feel so glorious on the inside rays burst out of my being a joyful yellow.
Yet, I feel as content and peaceful as blue.
You also make it possible for me to reach a new level of sorrow so deep it can’t be described by just saying, I feel blue.
I feel as unoriginal as Ditto, a blob of purple.
When autumn comes around, the leaves are forced to forgo their life source and perish out of sight while they are dressed in their finest yellow.
The amount of desirableness I feel is equivalent to a rose that used to be a breathtaking red
But now lacks all resemblance of love and life. It is wilted and can only be identified as dead black.
You make me associate myself with the amount of creativity and effort that was put into naming the fruit orange.
When I look out my eyes everything has changed to hues of flaming orange.
One thing I felt about you, that I’m sure is gone, was the gentleness of blue.
I wish you could be banished so deep into space that everything around you was black.
My feelings are conflicted between a growing rage and a ruler being draped in the finest of purple.
The temperature of my anger and color of my face could only be described as fire red.
All of my long blonde locks have turned into solar flares that project off my head as they do the radiant ball of yellow.
We are as much of a match as orange and purple are complimentary colors.
You are blue. I am red. Something new and completely original is the outcome but is it positive?
Overall I’m left with the worst taste I’ve ever experienced and it’s black. When I look away from you I feel yellow.
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