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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