When I was young,
I used to draw.
My lines were a wriggle,
My sketches were a scribble.                          
My colours were a rebel,
Of unmatching lights.
My sky was red.
My trees were blue.
My grass was violet.
Hanging from the dew.

And then I went on,
And learnt to grow.
They taught me, or they say so,
How to draw.

I draw now.
The lines I draw are straighter now.
The pictures I make are neater now.
The colours I fill are existent now.
'What have I learnt?', I ask myself.
You say you've helped me grown. So.
This is what I learnt. I answer,
I drew them a perfect box.
And painted it black.

I tried to cry,
Never thought feeling pain would be this hard.
I tried to smile,
The plastered curve on my lips, who cares if it's mine.
I tried to be angry,
I realised I have no strength left.
I tried to hide,
From what I could not decide.
So I decided I will stand,
Stark naked, and see the arrows targeting me.
Wait, I will wait,
For the day when at least one ,
Will help me feel.
Pain,anger,joy... I don't care.
Help me feel.
Help me feel.