Self Portrait

In the drawing. Flat paper on the coffee table. I’m in it. Crayons? Markers? Shaking in my hands. Sadness confined to a rectangle. My mom looks over and wonders. I’m not crying, it’s just marker on paper, see? I like to draw tears. And myself, no one else is allowed. I don’t cry in real life. I’m not annoying like that. When she calls me down for dinner- I’d rather draw. When she calls me down to go outside- I’d rather draw. To get better at drawing- The prettiest tears in the world.