A strange satisfaction
Almost obsessive-compulsive
Ordering them, left to right
On a perfect color scale.

I remember the day they came in the mail
And the day(s) they fell apart
Lost in the bottom of my backpack
My hands full. Unable to move
Hoping nothing would crush them.

And that day in sociology
When one tiny white cap
Rolled away
Leaving me to spend my day
Searching under a sea of legs
Just so I would have precious purple
To blend with my blues and pinks.

Don’t **** the messenger
That is what people say,
And this is for them,
My messengers
The path from my thoughts to the world
They contain the color that encompasses my soul
My talent, my skin, my bones
My daily companion
My therapist
My smarts, my dreams
Sixteen tubes,
The pressure is on.

A little boy sailing boats
Glowing lanterns in starless skies
A thousand balloons
Pulling the long lost Titanic
From underwater.
I dream to inspire hope
In those who seem to have lost sight.
Leave a powerful image in the mind
Change a bad day into a good one

Sixteen tubes, 2 inches tall
Sixteen tubes,
Life without them
Would be awfully dull