The Dark Truth

The Dark Truth I am the dark blue crayon because I am bright on the outside, but dark on the inside. I get straight to the point like the tip of a crayon. On the outside, I function just fine, but when you take a good look, you see I fall short of expectations. Like the crayon, I hide myself. As blue, I am thought of first, yet chosen last for being dark. Broken in half like the crayon, where no one sees, I ache to belong when I know I never will. Under great heat or pressure, I tend to lose my natural shape as the waxy texture of the crayon does. Thought to do the best with the morning sky, but dark is stuck at night when everyone is gone. Unwanted and put to the side to make room for my brighter family. Always around when needed, but normally replaced by bright or baby blue. So being blue I appear happy, but being dark, I am actually trapped in this crayon box of life. You are the dark blue crayon because you are bright on the outside, but dark on the inside. You get straight to the point like the tip of a crayon. On the outside, you function just fine, but when you take a good look you see, you fall short of expectations. Like the crayon, you hide yourself. As blue, you are thought of first, but are chosen last for being dark. Broken in half like the crayon, where no one sees, you ache to belong when you know you never will. Under great heat or pressure, you tend to lose your natural shape as the waxy texture of the crayon does. Thought to do the best with the morning sky, but dark is stuck at night when everyone is gone. Unwanted and put to the side to make room for your brighter family. Always around when needed, but normally replaced by bright or baby blue. So being blue you appear happy, but being dark, you are actually trapped in this crayon box of life. She is the dark blue crayon because she is bright on the outside, but dark on the inside. She gets straight to the point like the tip of a crayon. On the outside, she functions just fine, but when you take a good look you see she fall short of expectations. Like the crayon, she hides herself. As blue, she is thought of first, but chosen last for being dark. Broken in half, as the crayon, where no one sees, she ache to belong when she know she never will. Under great heat or pressure, she tends to lose her natural shape as the waxy texture of the crayon does. Thought to do the best with the morning sky, but dark is stuck at night when everyone is gone. Unwanted and put to the side to make room for her brighter family. Always around when needed, but normally replaced by bright or baby blue. So being blue she appears happy, but being dark, she is actually trapped in this crayon box of life.