#crayon
each day i reach your door
like a wet rag with a pulse.
heartbeat ticking,
hand hammering.
here’s your pills—
stabby, pretty, blue.
my fingerprints turn into bruises;
i forget my name.
shattered feet.
socks from last week.
air tastes like floor tiles.
i think the pill looked at me first.
you never ask what’s in it,
only if i still want you to take it.
your eyes orbit my pearl earring
like satellites.
bourgeois flaws taste better imported.
“jolie laide,”
tattooed where your heart should be.
you once told me:
i love ugly things, they last longer.
i mailed my neck to your *ancestors.
no return address,
no name, no guilt.*
pupil to pupil—
*will you know
you never knew.*
hope dies once
in a bag of *dollars,
hollow with pennies.*
you swallow orders like *gospel.
who gave you empty vessels?*
i bit the pill of idiots in half,
wore it as lipstick,
*kissed your ego
until it foamed.*
i leave the door ajar for ghosts;
they smelled like your cologne.
once,
you called me
your softest affair.
pill quartered.
earring taken.
no knocking.
goliath shadows hover,
even in the walls.
*this one licked the floor
where your heart used to be.*
your name clogs my throat
like i deepthroated grief.
i stitched my eye shut
to stop seeing you.
still,
visions came
through my teeth.
Sep 24, 2025
Sep 24, 2025 at 1:30 PM UTC
the echoes of memorie
written in crayon
are forever beautiful
Jul 23, 2025
Jul 23, 2025 at 1:46 PM UTC
Your goodbye didn’t come in words.
It came in colors-
Soft at first,then cruel.
Like a crayon box left in the sun,
Melted,twisted,
Still pretending to be whole.
There was a bleeding red in the way you first loved me-
Too much,too fast,
The kind of color that stains your fingers
Long after the page is gone.
I thought I was your favorite,
The one you'd never let dull.
But love can look a lot like fire
When you don't know it's burning you.
You drifted into quiet blue,
A shade that never speaks but always lingers.
It was the kind of sadness
You don't notice until the room feels colder.
Until your name stops sounding like home,
And starts echoing like distance.
I clung to your flickering yellow,
The last of your laughter,
The fake smiles you wore like stickers-
Easy to peel.
Never meant to stay on
But your warmth was borrowed,
And you gave it back before I was ready.
There was hope,once-
A trembling green we drew together,
When we still believed in growing things.
But even gardens wilt without hands to tend them.
And you let go so slowly
That I didn’t realize I was the only one still holding on.
Your silence came next-
Not cold,not loud-just...black.
The kind that seeps into the cracks,
That waits until you're alone to settle in your chest.
You didn't say goodbye.
You just stopped coloring with me.
And somehow, that hurt even more.
Now I sit with with this crayon box
That still smells like childhood and endings.
Picking through pieces you left behind.
The wrappers are torn,the tips all worn-
But I can't throw them away,
They remember you too well.
And maybe the worst part
Is I still sit with that crayon box in my lap,
Picking out the broken pieces,
Trying to draw you into a picture
That never finishes the same way.
Because even now,
With fingers stained and a heart worn thin,
I keep choosing the same colors-
The ones I loved the most,
The ones that hurt the deepest-
And I still press them to the page,
Knowing they'll break again.
But I color anyway.
Because that's how you taught me to say goodbye.
May 25, 2025
May 25, 2025 at 1:01 PM UTC
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.
Feb 16, 2023
Feb 16, 2023 at 7:27 AM UTC
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.
Oct 21, 2021
Oct 21, 2021 at 12:27 AM UTC
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
Aug 27, 2021
Aug 27, 2021 at 9:29 PM UTC
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."
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 12:26 AM UTC
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.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 5:32 PM UTC
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
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 5:42 AM UTC
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.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 5:32 PM UTC
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
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 8:33 PM UTC
He got his third birthday present;
A brand new 24-piece crayon set.
But he loved the most,
the second color from the left;
So used it all, with others intact.
Tomorrow is his birthday;
He is now thirteen.
He has ten 24-piece crayon sets;
Each missing the color green.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
The body
I want
exists
through the veil of blood that spiderwebs above my eyelids.
The soul
I so desire
screams out like nails on a chalkboard, across my vanes-
and alone, underneath the cupboard drawer.
The human
I loved
hides underneath my larynx
and rests so heavily upon my soul.
It is the monster under my bed
but, I am no longer five so-
I assume night lights are out of the question.
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 2:48 AM UTC
Suddenly my body.
I stand on the floor
It's my home
For now it's my home
That's what we call it,
When words are used to speak
All those meanings we barely know
Where this floor is i stand,
My home.
But there's a body between us
In this world, my home, there's body between us,
Road fence and time between us
And a little grey but not in colour
I was built to live only this day
Not tomorrow or yesterday
And when i look look look
It seems like life lives his life in a tree
Because that's where i've found it all
Though who am i
The world fits into both these eyes only when it ever stops changing
But it
It will never
And maybe if then the world would recreate itself each day
And how could we ever know
In each day some theory could be truth
They all have in common that it brought us here today.
No.
Nonono.
Only use the words that you can open into tunnels
(but only if you want to)
But where am i
Here
With the need to ecsape
Yes
First my body
I wished it
I wished
Only if the cage were made harder on the ouside rather than the inside
Then i might not be moulded
Pressed into corners and outer edges
First my body
Escape escape escape
Then find me someplace
Oh wow never have i written words like this way now
they are just like
They are like like my feet walking and they take me
Do i have to think to step
No i do not,
Only sometimes,
Now, see?
Words like foot steps on this day.
My feet keep shaking now.
Because there i am
Listen,
Leaving the world
I see this blue arch
That each day the sun kisses.
And at least one thousand faces only
I feel them smiling
And of course there are birds
Soundless ones
If my pupils might draw lines into the sky as they followed
They might leave trails there like a plane
Carry all those lives i will never know
(just as the world does)
So i kept breathing
The world
And the world was hard to breathe
Like it was made for someone else.
To the mirror and the window
I almost searched
I don't know where i find this person,
Me.
Where did i see them more.
Find a safe space
Hibernate.
When my body runs, barely moving
And the voice runs along there beside it
(somehow i fall behind the world)
Tells me "i need a place, i need a place, to hide, my very own place"
Then it needs a place
Place to hide
You can see there
In the pace
Pacing
On ground when it's too real on my feet and so
Breathing and stepping.
When my eyes are hard lakes and the tears grow around.
Talking talking to myself
Oh wow oh wow oh wow
A den a den a den
A space
My place
Place of my own and escape
Oh wow.
Hibernate.
The smallest place to find some space.
There,
i find a need that's mine
Growing in me
Give me space, but none to move
My guitar my blanket the headboard of my bed,
They tell it to me nicely,
(a gentle falling)
But they won't hold me until.
And they won't find
The softer beating to put into this heart space
Smoother air to feel in this mouth
But cushions and cushions
Cushions
Every single one in this whole room
Scarf pillow and duvet
Piled in books and books
Only these lights could glow somehow like a fire
Little place i find myself
Keep me safe from my own self
But more so
More so i'm sorry
keep me safe from their every kindness.
Little hidden place
Walls of comfort
Holds me even like this body
Till this body shook and shook
Tills the hands that grip it together
slipped apart
and they slip
Till i slip through the fingers
Of the words and sounds that are me
But now here's a body.
I think my back
the bone
Backbone won't hold me up alone.
But there it is i'm not
I'm not like a flag on a flag pole
Some ribbon maybe
Like a ribbon piece
I see a willow fence
Green and life
A ribbon moves there
And tied on a willow fence
Am i a ribbon or like a handwritten wish
I dont know
I can't feel the wind.
But the wind
This thing with the wind
It's told me things about myself
But reallly
what i look for
I don't look, i don't look
And if i lose my eyes
i will see sunlight still
And where it moves
on my arms and on my legs.
Shivering and shivering
I do shiver
I do dedicate my life to living
But little
Little place,
Curled and curled
and curled into myself until hardly a thing,
Can i lose my eyes here
But could i sleep and sleep and sleep in this body
And in every space around it
until i find i am awake.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 6:51 AM UTC
The air must be cool then,
The air needs to be cool.
This air must taste so much like coldness
How water runs from some wet hair
This must be the air
There on a naked back see the river-wet hair finding its way
finds a path in the shadow line of a rained-on back
a neck is a cliff face
and too there's the walkway
shoulder to shoulder
Delicate walkway
And your eyes
watch for the cave
I won't forget air
I need to feel it on each side of my tongue.
cold cold cold.
air to taste
that feeling
When then and only then
will you have tasted enough of what you tasted
does anyone know?
Then in the deepest moment
Deep within the evening
Deep as though it were the sea
The evening ocean.
Surrounded surrounded by
surrounded in evening
And so filled is my hollow with evening evening evening
That I become a ships ruin
Brought to life in this new way
I might wait on this sandy woodland path
For darkness on my skin
and pressing more.
like skin can't be skin on these bones
To grow and to grow.
Follow this sand and earth my feet know
Even with stick and stone
Walk these familiar strides i know
Finding strange lights, these movements of the earth,
Pass an echo caught in the grass
But these feet walk this ground
This this ground
Take me to this place i know
Find the upwards slope
Here now i might just forget each word i just spoke
Forget the voice who is speaking letters
To a silent ear or from a silent mouth
If i could hear each leaf falling my body might collapse around me.
Find the upwards slope
And when I reach it
I might reach out my arms to hold the moon
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
Holding a crayon with those petite fingers
Yet to discover colours and their hues
A gentle stroke and some hard
In circles, lines and what not
Every scribble seems like a masterpiece
When you are the artist
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 5:06 AM UTC
I want my stone
It's in
It's a pocket
A cave
I'd never like to find myself there
But for my hand
I want my stone
Where's my stone
To go into my stone
Tear scent denim on the bedroom floor,
cradle for a cheekbone.
A portable reading light
A book bent backwards
A coiled ribbon
There
They are me
On this bedroom floor
Under one table
where someone was once beautiful
and then still also after
If the world would touch me softly please
I might pretend that i am barely there
And the world might pretend it too
Is it possible to focus a moment more into one sense?
Maybe could i live one moment as more a sound
Tree branches almost seem
Like they move slower
Than the wind and air
Sometimes
And now
Thats me
Sometimes
But i can't stay
You were hurting me with the bin
And the unwanted
It was not needed
Maybe i understand
But no
Nothing nothing
No
A piece of thread floating
But moving past the leaf canopy
And the town
Village landscape
But glimpsing glimpsing the pale blue
Across those few changing colours
Old place
Where i left my thoughts
I can see you now
But i never quite left it all
One day
The light won't
Touch your naked skin anymore
When houses are the haunting
And my ghosts were your life
Possibly the **** of the first time i tried
Who else burried a heartbeat maybe
Under stone or nettle
Or in your earth and life?
Still you take me to you
Not even a stony galaxy
Though that word seems not-right
Thank you thank you
A place that won't leave dents in my knees
Like a polished statue head
Not beauty
In fact
I almost melt
But there's a person of
A passing person
A barely there and rarely remembered person about it
Them
vision then
vision then
but i must be breathing or
something close like an echo
coz my hands are speaking,
like these words
and changing screens
they came from this very day
my body has used this now place
here
like a human
and.
I'd just like to be just a figure in their bed now
gentle and blending
in softness and calm
stillness
like to inhale
A face weighs down shoulders
Don't make me a person
but please
though.
i never liked an uninvited light
when it sliced through my night-space
But a whisper
I don't know
But i know sometimes there's this imprint on the pillow beside me
just then i picture the walking man i spoke of once before
but no
but absolutely not like it at all
coz this whisper
is like the space of a something.
The world knows
Thank you
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
Lost thing
i was once scared by the wind in a tree,
ashamed to say but
but
no i am not really
but
fear was breathing.
But let me recommend you.
Sit on the stairs
when you want some space to be alone,
People passing you there come and just go.
Or when you feel like that feeling you dont know
Sit on the stairs,
on some step
Because
All they ever want is to be here or to be there,
The inbetween
no no no no
Look theres the blue
forget the tree
or remember if it helps
So if you would just sit on the stairs,
If you want to be alone,
Sit on the stairs.
on the stairs
On this day
There's a cheek
feel a cream carpet edge
And a face like burning
And a wooden smell
(one who never flew)
Closer to perfection than over half of most the some things.
Poke a bare leg through a white bannister.
Fishing for thoughts
Corners and angles.
And
Bear with me, but
If the sky is the sky
And the sea is the sea,
Why is the wind all together
And the wave all alone?
Rain and the grass and the dirt on my face.
They like my vest and collarbones
And bare grass legs
But Or Sometimes
Peel the tights from the legs
And see the camping
The caravan moment
Quick and passing.
Hidden away.
But i guess there can be GUSTS of wind can't there though?
Gusts
Disgust?
Who's sure about gusts?
Not sure i need gusts
It might be like love,
Remember
Not sure that i need that now.
Away away
We want to fly there
But who else have we told to go there?
We look there in guilt
But then so too do they
Away away away
Let us go away.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
I need to write I need
To write I
Need to write
Right right
Know
No, I dont need to
It like there's buzzing in my hands
Its like there's buzzing in my body
Like my head's rocking backwads and forewards
I see the open window
And I want to hang out of it
With my weight on my hips
Just like.
Rocking rocking
And. Air
I always need it now
And the way the letters look when I type
Just fast enough
Like theres movement
Like i'm busy
When i'm only sitting down
Its like the colours have gone inverse around my eyes
Like negative colours swirling
Framing everything i see
Like its a tunnnel
But i'm not moving through it because the end is big and clear
And im already there
I can't have faith that's it
(But there is no certainty though in those words i just spoke)
How many times i've wished i might be
That squirrel up in a tree
Free free free free
But he'll never go far
I tried to make art yesterday
I found paper, tape, pens and magazine
A cocktail stick
It looked like *******
I crumpled the paper with oil pastelled hands
I stabbed a cocktail stick through the lines
Wound the tape, wound the tape.
I poured my tea over it
Poured the tea
And it bled red
From the marks of a red pen
But no now is today
Nonoooo why did I go back?
Now is shaking.
Flies on the glass,
But they ruin the dream
But they made a new one
But they never knew.
Sofa sofa and cardboard boxes
Like im in a coat again
Where am I going
I'm not there yet
I want to fly
I was scared to admit it before
Or I wasnt sure
But i'd like to fly
Fly fly
Shaking legs
My eyes aren't right not right
My eyes are dragging too much
Its like the weight's on the bottom
Like a hammock but no swinging noo
Why are there sparkles on the floor?
Who thought of the teapot plant *** outside?
I can see it coz it's white
Everything else is black
But the giant teapot is white there
in the night garden out of the window
Who thought of it?
Who designed it?
How was it made?
Where are they now?
I hope they stilll make things
Never stop making
I'd like to be someone who never stops making
And creating
But i'd like to be someone who starts making
Spiders think they own their house,
Coz they built their web
On these walls we built
And this house that we made
Hahaha
Haha
Hahhhhh
But we built our house on somebody's floor,
(Or someone's wall
Whatever direction they walk in?)
And we built this town on somebody's floor
But I didnt build it
No
Labels
White sticky labels
Only found them again when I no longer needed them
Lets all just live in the world okay
Or even no
Live where you like
2 rules:
Be kind.
Make people happy,
In the very least
Try.
But I dont make the rules
Nononono
Forget the rules
I can't make rules
I can't close it
No closing
Everything just be
Everything
Spill over
Spill over
Open.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 6:06 PM UTC
Maybe I'm done being
Just a nobody
Waiting for my voice to be heard
People to point and whisper
Its her.
I'm done being just a shadow
A face in the faceless crowd
Im gonna fly like a sparrow
And drown the chatter out.
People are going to freeze
When they hear me speak.
Or so thats the plan
But I'm the white crayon,
And there no more more black paper.
Im so done leading,
This useless life!
Can't make people smile,
Can't end the fights.
So watch me rise!
Watch me reach my peak!
Make a new mountain,
In only a week.
Never stop rising,
Stop being the best me.
At least thats the plan,
The brightest crayon.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
you are like a white crayon
valuable with superseding other colors
you show authority when no one else would
and for you, my white crayon
may i never stray away from objectives
and may you always be simply
a white crayon
useless in the eyes of some, but when used in a correct manner
you become infinite.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC