just a bunch of kids standing in front of a white board
look, look closer, pay utmost interest in the direction of their gravity
syllables that sticks, muddy soles and sloppy shoe laces
pigtails and shaven head, bowl cuts and ponytails
a bunch of kids, ten years ago with crayons in their fists
where they colored their minds and drawn wonderful lines
yet as hours dawned and spawned broader collisions,
pencils gradually drew calluses and grew to quiver,
erase and replace, smaller and neater
in-between the lines where a finger is easier to place,
never in pen, the jet-black ink or purple lavender can stain
in pen the past cannot be rewritten
in pen they wrote their lives with finer attention
with pen, they weren’t afraid to hold onto
every past mistake and embrace someone they once knew
in pen, the bunch of kids filled the paper,
in pencil, the students were told nothing but to stay still
so here they are, standing before the white board
can’t you see their lines, the overlapping chaos
of pure, imaginative ingenuity
they wrote in permanent markers
for the entire audience to see