Oh coloring,
I was never good at you,
but you were always so patient with me.
How I met you,
through crayon,
through pencil,
I regret for not remembering.
Oh coloring,
my dear first expression,
my first form of idea,
my first physical imagination,
I'm so grateful
to you and your eye openers,
to worlds other than gray.
Oh coloring,
how much I'd like time and times
like that again,
streaking green along edges for grass,
circling corners with yellow for sun,
all over any page,
just for the hell of it.
YOU ARE READING
CLUCK NO
PoetryA collection of both emotional and humorous poems about growing up and other frustrating parts of life that'll sound alright in your head, but just plain stupid out loud. !!!WARNING!!! This is not a compilation of chicken poems.
