Description: Seeking originality, I suppose...in all ways
My Crayon Box -------------------------------------------
There was a time when I used to draw pictures
Splashes of color on the paper like paint
Tossed against walls
Yellow was the color of morning
And blue was too high to see
Silver stairs too slippery to climb
For me
Red was the color of anger
Purple the color of pride
Green was the color of envy
And I felt it, heavy, in my hand as I drew
Pink was a second-hand bike I rode
Wrapped up in leftovers
I was disguised
Somehow made more palatable
When being someone else
Lavender was the color of bruises
Soft and hidden in the rainbow
For ugly and black
Would color over anything
So I kept them hidden in the box
Afraid to let them see the daylight
Lest they escape and shade my world with darkness
I tried to capture orange
Vibrant yet happy, I was somewhat in awe
I wished to be
Bright colors
Not some ambiguous hue
You know I love color, and this uses it very well. I like the bits about the pink bike and lavender being the color of bruises. The ending is great. Orange is such a sunshiney color that you have to love it (though nothing rhymes with orange).
Very natural, roll-off-the-tonguey writing. The colors thing, I have seen in a number of slightly different iterations, but you did it well nonetheless. You know what is a greating sounding little phrase? Delapidated wood.
Very good write. I never have anything bad to say about your writing! It's hard not to say "I can relate" when I read your writings but I honestly can relate! This was very original and creative. You described the colors very well, and I can relate to feeling some of the ways about the colors as you do. Great write! --blt
you know, i had crayon boxes in my day, even the nifty 96 box with plastic carrying case. but to draw as this, with memories and intangible emotions rather than crayons ... i don't know exactly what i'm talking about, i'm a little dazed about what happened here as i read your poem, the first thing i've spoken aloud since i woke up this morning with my voice that croaky cough. i'm in awe. i think that should make sense to you. =]
this is..just..great. i love how you described everything using the colors. I did that once in one if mine. the end struck me as kind of sad though. you talk about all these beautiful colors and things, but in the end you werent really any of them...it was kind of sad but I loved the poem all the same. very original
Very interesting way to express your experiences. A box of crayons is a powerful symbol of 'formative years'. Well thought and pretty authentic, and still don't know why I am so sad after reading it... very moving. Lots Of Love. Greg
very nice. I feel a sadness oozing out of the box and I hope that by letting it out you can let it go too. "whatever the question, love is the answer." wonderful poetry.
The crayon colors of your world--those images are simply wonderful...but there is much said by the colors you carefully hide away in the box. Color the pictures the way you would like the world to be--the way you want others to know you. These four lines are so sad to me-- "Wrapped up in leftovers I was disguised Somehow made more palatable When being someone else" If raised to believe this, then of course one will "color" their personality and , hide the "ugly" shades deep within and only present to the world what they consider "pretty" pictures...the "vibrant" hues. I keep re-reading this, and each time I grasp yet another wisp of understanding---a complex and articulate composition--in hopeful rainbow-crayon colors. Silver
Submission Name: My Crayon Box
