Crayola Dreams This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

By
    I watch her wash away my soul,

my creative being

immersed

in a flow of

sudsy

cold

harsh

cruelty.

Her anger obstructs

my view of beauty,

the picture perfect

abstract

portrait puddle

on the floor.

"Mommy," I say to her,

my blonde curls limp

under the weight

of streaming tears.

"Why?"

She says that it is

wrong

messy

not good

- bad -

but I think that it was beautiful.

She taught me how to hide

my crayons,

shame

blanketing my face.

The rain falls harder

with each drop of Lysol

on my refrigerator mural.




This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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