Red Crayon

There's a red crayon in her hand

and she's coloring

Each new line is a way for her to let go

The crayon is her portal to a world where she's in control

Sometimes the crayon makes her cry

Sometimes the other kids try to take it away

She's scared she won't have it when she needs it

so she carries it in her back pocket

It's there when she has no-one to turn to

It's there when no-one cares

When her mother yells she can color a beautiful picture with it

Sometimes it gets a little messy and she has to cover it up

No-one likes the color,

it's not in style.

When a boy cheats on her she can write his name and smile

Her magical red crayon can clear her head or fill it,

whichever she wishes

If people see her they make her put it down

because they don't understand its power

Sometimes it gets a little out of control

and someone else has to wipe it off

It doesn't always fade

but that's ok

She doesn't mind the stains,

just the way other people look at them.

She meets someone and they have a red crayon too

finally, someone who understands

they begin to hold hands

When she's crying she calls them

Sometimes forgetting the red crayon in her pocket

But it begs her to remember its existence

It fights her to stay in her hand

sometimes it wins.

They threw their red crayon away

She calls them now every day

and the red crayon cries

Because she's not coloring as many pictures

One night she's packing her bags and it's there

sitting on her desk

whispering wonderful memories

And her skin rings with yearning

But then she realizes

She doesn't need the magic red crayon anymore

and the memories were never as wonderful as they seemed

in fact, they were bleak

It never fixed anything

It only made her feel all right

it was an evil red crayon

holding her captive for years

dependent on the way it made her feel.

Her temporary savior became her worst enemy

How did it take her so long to see?

No matter how tempting it may be

She can't run to the red crayon anymore.

She turns away, feeling free.

She walks out the room,

and the red crayon,

no,

it was never a red crayon

not an innocent child's plaything

it left deep scars

the blade

stays on the desk.