I used to be a Crayola hoarding whore.
Had the 96 box set.
Anyone that pressed hard on crayons was not allowed to use my crayons.
“Bitch. Please. I saw what you did to that other crayon.
Trying to unwrap it. No. You cannot use my crayons.”
I would make sure every crayon stayed sharp.
“You cannot fuck up the pristine condition of my crayons with your callous touch.”
I would imply with my dirty looks.
The first time I played show me yours and I’ll show you mine…
Boy stuck his fingers in me.
I told him I felt like a whore because he didn’t even bother to kiss me.
He said, “Well, why would that be…”
I was 13.
I didn’t say anything.
That night I learned to swallow my tongue and cried myself to sleep.
That’s always stayed in the back of my head.
Funny I treated my crayons better than I treated myself.
Or at least stood up for them more when people wanted to put their grubby fingers all over them.
Tonight I bought a 48 crayon set.
Let’s see the conditions my body and this crayon set stay in.