crayon poetry


there's an unexplainable, unadulterated joy in coloring with crayons.

it must be something about the bold, waxy lines that magically appear on our papers as we draw.

we all love to observe our own handiwork-- however humble we pretend to be-- even if it's just a simple cross-hatching of bright colors on a blank canvas of white paper.

because, restaurants bring out the kid in me every time: however mature I'm pretending to be, I can't keep myself from reaching for the little package of thick crayons among the food on the table (probably meant for stubby second-grader hands) and perfectly coloring in the fish, little boys and girls, and beach balls.

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