Life and Lines

I remember my first box of crayons,

And the waxy scent

Of color.

I whirled though page after page

Of coloring books,

As I left my mark on every sheet

Of recycled paper.

Daily,

I filled the face of our refrigerator with twisted balls of color,

Chaotic scribbles

That equated me.

Then,

In first grade

We learned about lines

And what belongs between them.

Each day,

The teacher would leave a single chocolate

On the desks of the children who got it right,

And while in love doing things my way,

Greedy children

Crave Candy.

So,

I fell in line.

In high school,

I sat in lines of desks,

And wrote diligently

Between the narrow lines of a

College ruled notebook.

I squeezed myself

Into a line of burly boys

Who played vicious games

Between painted lines on grassy fields,

While crowd lined up to cheer us on,

As we destroyed each other.

As an adult,

I tow the line,

And wait

In lines,

And drive down roads dotted

With lines,

I didn't put there.

All the while, living tucked comfortably

In a valley,

Surrounded by rigid mountain ranges,

Drawing even more lines between earth,

And sky.

The other day,

I found an old coloring book,

And even though I put color

In all the right places

I didn't feel like my work belonged on the fridge.