somewhere i am still crayon child,
and when i run up to you with sunshine
in my eyes, brandishing my latest scribble
of a poem with colors spilling out of the lines--
the paper all soft and feathery in your
large hands and my eager, expectant face
waiting for your response-- please pin up
my painstaking masterpiece. i have hand-selected
each careful color, designed every odd detail,
and now i hand my crayon poem over to you
& hope that somewhere i am still crayon child
to you, and you will be gentle and not leave me
shambling in snapped crayons and ripped
shreds of poetry.
----
apr "12," 2017
oh god, have i've reverted back to all lc. why am i writing poetry at 1:40 a.m. instead of sleeping since i have an exam tomorrow. the world will never know.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
watterson
Poesiaan experimental attempt to write a poem a day for the month of april spoiler alert: i did it
