Tiny ribbon bows Scattered paper planes A handful of crayons and painted, crumpled pages.
Little Dear, Why did your lips refuse to say? Did you fight hard to be steady when a hurricane of emotions swirled into your little frame?
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No tears, but the hands turned cold. Crying was not allowed put it on hold! Doodles of cats turned into awful words, and the crayon stained your little fingertips… but am I heard?
When the chaos was loud, silencing the pain, the waterfall crashed and the thunder began. The little girl ran back to the fantasy land… so why would you accuse her of going insane?
Crayons — Updated 3/10/2025 11:33pm
‘Crayon’ Original Draft — 14/7/2024 3:05PM
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Author’s note : Who decides what is sane, when silence is the only language left?
