The scribble



art
that becomes my very breath 
my very existence
the broken pencil 
the beginning 
of my anger 
my eyebrows slowly scrunching together
like two very skinny caterpillars
inching their way across my forehead 
as I select another pencil 
and start again
slow
line 
after 
line
lines fading and falling
falling down rabbit holes
I draw what I see in that twisted reality 
and I guess what I saw was. . .  
a scribble?
hum
I'll try art again tomorrow.
 

Inkpaw

VT

18 years old

More by Inkpaw

  • The Boxes In The Corner

    Looming over your shoulders

    Each stack higher than its former

    Every thought and every scrap

    Of an idea too scared to ponder

     

    Every moment that hurt

    Each minute that lingered longer

  • Inadequacy


    How do I push the words out
    From behind my taffy tongue 
    Thick with salty tears 
    And full of grubby thumb 


    I’m a child 
    Pretending that I’m numb 
    To escape the overwhelming feelings 

  • Paper Frogs

    Why

    When feet fall soft but quick 

    Does the hallway extend

    And the hot breath of whoever’s behind me feel hotter 

    Why do I stay pressed to the wall 

    Like a stubborn gruby sticker