Broken Crayons
Broken doesn't define you.
I bring color
to everyone.
I make a picture
come to life.
I am the reason
that a person smiles.
At least,
I used to be.
Someone thought
it would be better,
broken underneath the pressure
of hands who hated
the happiness I gave.
I'm worthless now.
But is that
really true?
I can still bring color.
I can still bring
pictures to life.
I can still make
someone smile.
But now I can
share it with
someone else.
We can both bring
color to a paper world.
So just because
we may be broken;
it doesn't mean
we're not of any use.
Here's the proof.
Broken crayons still color.
About the Creator
Alexandria Stanwyck
My inner child screams joyfully as I fall back in love with writing.
I am on social media! (Discord, Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok.)
instead of therapy poetry and lyrics collection is available on Amazon.
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More stories from Alexandria Stanwyck and writers in Poets and other communities.
Six Feet Under
Buried alive. What a horrible way to go. Yazz lay there, in her own thoughts. What else could she do? She was hungry, thirsty, tired, mentally, and physically exhausted, and more than anything, she was bored. She hoped she would die of boredom before anything else, anything else would've been more painful. Like many people had, she and her friends had talked about what they reckon the worst ways to die were, it was a morbid subject, but it came up every now and again. Yazz had always been one to argue her point on drowning, others had mentioned burning alive, slowly and painfully bleeding to death, hung drawn and quartered, and being starved to death. It was strange that none of them had considered being buried alive, it had never come up. But now, she was thinking back to those conversations her and her friends had had, how could they have not thought about it? It took a lot longer than the others, you were completely confined, you couldn't move or do anything, you just had to wait, until your body was physically unable to support a life system anymore, which could take up to four days. Four! By far the longest out of all of them. She recounted some of these conversations just to try and pass the time, anything to pass the time. It was difficult to know how much time had passed since she had been underground, it was difficult to know anything. There were many things that Yazz didn't know, she didn't know where she was, she didn't know how she'd got into the coffin, she'd just woken up there. Yazz also didn't know what time it was, or even what day it was, she guessed at Tuesday, it was Sunday evening when she'd been buried alive, intentionally, and although it had felt like weeks had passed, she was still alive, which means she hadn't died from dehydration, and therefore it couldn't have been more than four days.
By Liam Storm3 days ago in Fiction
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