Is she supposed to stay

in between the lines,

run her red crayon around the black edges

on the picture of a mandala,

or a heart,

or a rattlesnake?
`

Is she supposed

to rip off the paper around the red crayon,

so she can smooth

in the color, gracefully,

as if her rough edges

were meant to be clean,

smells of lavender and coconut

after a bath,

& the steam disappears into the cool air?
~

Is she supposed to always

exist in a prayer

of loving,

as if her hands were meant to be strong,

even if she wasn’t,

holding the seashells of thoughts steady

like the way

the sea pushes them to the sandy shore,

waves circles under waves,

circling like these colors

of red

the first tip of a rose

emerging in the green shield of petals

after a spring rain storm, &

the colors bleed

from her mind to her heart

and back again,

until she is drained

onto the page,

so every little piece of her

becomes

a part of you?

~

Author: Jessie Wright

Editor: Travis May

Images: LK/Flickr