I Am a Box of Crayons

𝗩𝗢𝗜𝗖𝗘𝗦 𝗜𝗡 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗥𝗨𝗠: 𝗔 𝗣𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹

𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬 | 𝗜 𝗔𝗺 𝗮 𝗕𝗼𝘅 𝗼𝗳 𝗖𝗿𝗮𝘆𝗼𝗻𝘀

I am a box of crayons,
Resting quietly on a shelf,
Holding colors that do not match,
Yet somehow belong together.

Some call one color brighter,
Some call another strange,
But colors were never meant
To stay inside one shade.

I carry reds that burn like courage,
Blues that calm the loudest storms,
Yellows that glow through heavy skies,
And greens that grow where hope is born.

I have colors soft as whispered words,
Colors bold enough to take up space,
Colors hidden beneath the others,
Waiting for their turn to leave a trace.

Sometimes people open the box
Expecting every color to be the same,
But crayons were not made for sameness,
And rainbows were never built that way.

Because what is a drawing
Without contrast and light?
What is a canvas
Without colors learning to coexist?

I am a box of crayons—
Different shades, different stories,
Pressed together in one small place,
Creating something larger than ourselves.

And maybe that is the beauty of it:
Not that we are identical,
But that despite our differences,
We still color the world together.