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.
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