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Carlo C Gomez Feb 2023
coloring inside the lines is impossibly bleak,
with a hissing noise
atomic locomotive
rounds the bend,
extrasensory perception is not
a mindless gift,
it's a train station in the clouds,
tracking all my starting points to you,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.

you leave in opera
with secrets and grievances
under the radar,
and your ready-made
wings catch in the power lines,
you're coiling like smoke
in the arches of my cathedral,
a sense of elegant decay
while sweeping up the debris,
committing arson
with the paraffin of my temporal lobe.

yesterday's fairground waltzes,
ghosted lullabies,
and woodland hymnals,
set in a context not of
resolution and closure,
but of contradiction and assimilation,
break the bond,
away they float on purveyor belts,
one too many molecules,
one too many departures,
always on the surface of everything,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.
Annie Oct 2021
big blue
big blue, two
two big blue to see
big blue sky
like crayon on canvas
crazy how big blue is
crazy how I have two blue
always drawn to
big brown
two big brown
drawn to brown like crayon
draws land
land under big blue
big sky
blue eyes
look for brown
land and
sea, too
crazy you
have brown
I have blue
we have two
you take blue crayon
I take brown
draw land on you and
you draw big
sky or sea
all over me
I am blue
brown is you
kissing crazy
cos now blue is brown
brown is blue
land has sea
sea makes sky
crazy crayons
blue brown eyes
you and
I.
11/10/21
Zack Ripley Aug 2021
I'm someone.
You're someone too.
Even if you're broken.
Because if a broken crayon can still color,
and a broken clock can still be right,
a broken person is still a person.
You just have to find your way
out of the darkness and into the light
Dev Aug 2019
I once drew a dinosaur scene on my grandparent's wall.

T-rex and long necks over 30 feet tall.

My raptor looked lonely so I thought I'd draw double.

"Wow. You're going to be in so much trouble."

My sister's comment came with such great surprise.

She didn't stop to see the detail in the Triceratop's eyes.

No compliments or critiques, she just walked on by.

She returned with a smirk and someone by her side.

My feeling of joy was replaced with pure dread.

Like the crayon I had dropped, my face, pure red.

Grandpa picked up the blood colored cylinder

He than showed me how add our family signature.

My grandpa would jest, as I nearly **** my long-johns: 

"You’re never too old to draw with crayons."
Challenge: Write a poem including the line, “You’re never too old to draw with crayons."

For the sake of rhyme, I hope you pronounce it "cra-yons".
Crystal Freda Dec 2018
she looked at
the azure sky
and mantis grasses.
mountains so gray,
and glaucous lakes
so long
colors so vibrant
like colored
by a crayon.
aneeshans Nov 2018
I trespassed into the woods
following the fragrance of a wildflower.
There was a spring of silence, birds,
and tall trees; silent indeed only
the winds sounded silent,
once I found her, she whispered...
Are you feeling dark and gloomy?
Black and empty as a dusty chalkboard?
Spooky like foggy lights falling along leaves?
Did you paint your walls with
Broken crayons?
Do you remember when we lay beside
each other, bodies warmed by darkness?

A lonely ache knocks. Asks how
far I will go to find you in me.
When everything cloaked in silence?

Wounds will heal as time flies
Call me melancholy
Poetic T Aug 2018
Walking up to mummy,
            he says look at my smile.
I wanted to cheer you up.

            I made my smile rainbows,
                               to brighten you up.
A little one wants to cheer up his mommy so he colours in his teeth, and says look a smile of rainbows for mummy to know every smile is a rainbow smiling back at you.
E B K Aug 2018
I miss being a crayon
when I had the certainty
of being liked by them
the fantasy so believable
that I believed it with all my heart

I miss being a crayon
when she and I laughed together
created together
shared our thoughts, quotes, and ideas
together

I miss being a crayon
when we had moments of
unity
collaboration
laughter that I could easily
be a part of

it was nice

I miss being a crayon
but now I am a pencil
less colorful
wavering
able to be whittled
and sharpened
and full of potential
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