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when I was a kid,
I used to color,
I used to color the whole page,
inside,
and outside of the lines,
like how out of the box I was,
you couldn't contain all of me in a box,
even if you had boxes,
I'd escape,
and break free,
When I was a kid,
I colored inside,
and outside of the lines,
while in school they told me how I was out of line,
I was far from out of line,
I always made sure I was inside the lines,
but sometimes,
sometimes its as if my imagination got the best of me,
and I got to escape there conforment,
even if it was for a second it felt so great,
as if I was in prison and I got to go outside for the first time in years,
my adventures in my head couldn't break through to the real world,
like reality came in and arrested my imagination,
when I was a kid,
I stopped coloring outside of the lines,
and only colored inside,
To feel like a square peg going into a round hole,
as they tried to shaped me into what the saw to be as standard,
shaving down my unique edges,
like it was a crime to be so different,
as if I saw them try to expand to fit my square ways of thinking,
not once had they thought it could work out better,
then lining the squares and triangles and hexagons and countless others up,
to get sanded down to be as close as they could make them to be to a circle,
I'm not a kid anymore,
I'm much older now,
I still color inside the lines,
to make my beautiful pictures,
and sometimes,
like when I was a child,
I color outside the lines,
*because sometimes no one has to know,
when you've made a masterpiece,
a poem about coloring
