Green is the color of envy.
Jealousy in the form of a big hungry monster.
It mirrors greed in observation and encourages angst when living in lack.
But I love green.
There are plants that are green, I visualize them when I meditate.
Luck feels green, a penny found right side up on heads, kind of luck.
Wrigley's thirty-five-cent spearmint gum is the green of my childhood.
Sweet, juicy, and refreshing!
Inspiration and admiration should be green.
Dissatisfaction breeds more green-producing guilt, hurt, and doubt.
Green feels like Emerald City, a long way from home.
It is filled with plentiful hope and possibilities following you wherever you go.
Green should feel like life in the palm of your hands; happiness in the form of dance.
But instead green smells stinky, attracting flies like it shares a name with Oscar the grouch. It feels foreign like currency from overseas. And looks judgingly beyond the colour spectrum.
I'll keep holding on to my green dreams. Not so tight that it can't breathe but close enough for us to get reacquainted so that I may breathe you in without fear of losing you for good.
Green is lushes life, enduring like the Everglades.