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The Picture


Author: Emerging Soul
ASL Info:    48/VERY female/Wisconsin
Elite Ratio:    4.36 - 1240 /1114 /244
Words: 518
Class/Type: Prose /Serious
Total Views: 1192
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 3331



Description:


Individuality...it's what makes the world worth living in


The Picture



He always wanted to explain things
But no one cared
So he drew
Sometimes he would draw
And it wasn't anything
But he wanted to carve it in stone
Or write it in the sky
And it would be only him and the sky
And the things inside of him
That needed saying
It was then that he drew the picture
It was a beautiful picture
He kept it under his pillow
Like a secret
And would let no one else see it
He would look at it every night
And think about it
And when it was dark
And his eyes were closed
He could still see it in his mind
It was all of him
And he loved it

When he started school
He brought it with him
Not to show anyone
But just to have it near him
Like a friend
It was funny about school
He sat it a square brown desk
Just like all the other
Square brown desks
And he thought that it should be red
His room was a bland, square room
Just like all the other rooms
It was tight and close and color-less
And stiff
He hated to hold the pencil and the chalk
With his arm stiff
And his feet flat upon the floor
With the teacher watching and waiting
He longed to curl upon the floor
With his crayons sprawled around him
But his teacher frowned at him
And told him to sit still
Like all the other children
Stiff

At first when the teacher spoke to him
He wanted to show her his picture
But she didn't want to see it
Or hear what he had to say
She told him to wear a tie
Just like all the other boys
He said that he didn't like them
She said it didn't matter
So he wore one
Feeling its grip around his throat
Stiff
Like everyone else

After that, they drew
And he drew yellow
Because it was the way that he
Felt about morning
It was beautiful
And he loved it
His teacher came to him and smiled
"What's this?" she asked
And he tried to tell her what was inside of him
But she didn't care
"Why don't you draw like the other boys?"
She asked
They drew rocket-ships and monsters
Frightening dark and angular spaces
Spit onto the paper
It was ugly
And he hated it
But no one cared

So he closed away his mind
And threw away the picture
He grew used to the tie
And the square brown desk
And the bland, square room
Stiff
He drew airplanes and rocket-ships
Like all the other boys
And when he lay alone
Looking at the sky
It was big and blue
And all of everything
But he wasn't
Anymore

He was square inside
And brown
And bland
And stiff
He was now like
Everyone else
And the things inside of him
That needed saying
Didn't need it any more
It had stopped pushing
It was crushed
Stiff
Like everything else
And no one cared




Submitted on 2004-06-29 07:53:43     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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Comments


  It was long, but easy to read like most of your poetry. you are such a great write. i think that this one great just like everythink you write. talk to you later lia
| Posted on 2004-07-06 00:00:00 | by lili | [ Reply to This ]
  the death of an imagination is even more devastating to witness than the death of a brain by nefarious, ill-gotten drugs. because perhaps the drugs can be drawn from the body, and some of what used to be there can be salvaged, but imagination and individuality is a coveted child's thing that once gone will probably never come back. wonderfully told here, though i'm more than a little POed at the teacher - it's educators like that who should have been terminated in the first term.

anyhow, i liked it.
~Blue
| Posted on 2004-06-29 00:00:00 | by blueorchids | [ Reply to This ]
  Sooo sad! I liked the simplicity of this, I think the child comes across a lot better than if you put more imagery in. But, you are so right - one of the few things I find attractive about life is individuality! Brilliant, encore encore!
| Posted on 2004-06-29 00:00:00 | by Bee | [ Reply to This ]
  I think this was somewhat too easy to read. I think you could have benefited from more imagery and not just given the reader everything. sometimes it's better to let the reader figure out what something means to them instead of having it all there already. you might also consider the use of punctuation because after a while of reading this poem it starts to drag because it's all the same. there are some parts you may want to cut out that contribute to the length of the piece but are really just a repetition of ideas we've already heard. a good start, try to express yourself in a diff way though, this seems a little clichéd (the way you've set it up). keep writing!
~anabel
| Posted on 2004-06-29 00:00:00 | by purple dinosaur | [ Reply to This ]
  Hey, that's me! I'm a working stiff who used to be full of color, too!

A good, good poem. I love story telling poetry with a dabble of quotations. It was long, but easy to read.

The line break at "Because it was the way that he/felt about the morning" is different than the rest of the poem. Unnatural breaks are fine for creating a sense of diatribe, but I don't think that that is what you are going for here. You may have your reasons, though, just wanted to key you into the only minor fault that I could find.

Enjoyed it.
| Posted on 2004-06-29 00:00:00 | by Black Rock Tractor | [ Reply to This ]
  I loved it! A great way of explaining where the whole wanting to be like everyone else comes from, but at the same time having something inside that makes you different and you want to show, but know that you shouldn't for the very reason that it makes you different! Great write! I love your stuff!
| Posted on 2004-06-29 00:00:00 | by SMUPartyGirl | [ Reply to This ]
  whoa. hmmmm...
it makes me want to kill the teacher. i'm really pissed at her. i'm probably going to be pissed at her for a while. even though she doesn't exist.
it's very simply written, and it works well.
what happened to the picture? did it just become lost among the other things? i think it's good that the picture just fades out of the story without mention, it gives the impression of stifling all thought, even past thought.
| Posted on 2004-07-15 00:00:00 | by lukewarm | [ Reply to This ]


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