Poetry

The last poem I wrote was about 3 years ago, a month shy before I enlisted. I thought it would fit in with this month's currency.



White Crayon

Like a novel that makes you grovel,

I am as useful as a floating shovel.


And as unnoticeable as we are;

To find me, you don’t have to go far.


Standing motionless in the box train,

Unsharpened, fully clothed, slowly dying from inside pain.


I am glad though,

that I dream in colour;


Even if the world should disagree and I gradually fade,

I am content because I stuck to my act of valor.


So throw me again, onto that blank canvas;

Tear my only clothes and break me in two.


No wait, you don’t have to halve me

because I won’t ever be used, you see.


I can’t erase, nor can I write;

Surrounded by similar living entities, I am the only sprite.


But if there’s a nothingness that’s full of black

Remember that I will be here to white up your life track,


cover up those obscure cracks

And give you perpetual happiness without ever asking for any back.


White Crayon in my pencil case? Check.