Sketching A (Me)mory

Pencils.Pens.Crayons.Paint.

I like pencils, They keep my hands busy

I flow through memories that I don’t remember thinking of

I retell untold stories with my pencil

Sometimes erasing my thoughts and recreating them better than they originally were

Pencils allow my thoughts to change and sculpt into subliminal secrets that only my pencil and I understand

But pencils aren’t my only vice, I’m also cool with my pen

Pens are more permanent, I express my history’s facts with my pen

I only copy what’s been created to be definite, because my pen only looks back to write forward

But I love the way my pen brings confidence to my historic memories, It’s sometimes contagious

I can write with a certain maturity I can’t get with my pencil

But my inner child doesn’t understand my pen, and that’s where my crayon comes in

Crayons help express the natural innocents of my inner child

My crayon thinks outside of the lines, and only focuses on the color blend of my organic ignorance that I was born with

The form undefinable visions that only make sense in the moment

My crayon keeps my youth alive

Without it I’d forget my past

I’ll always need my crayon it influences my other friends

Including my last one Paint.

Now paint gives me so much in so many ways

I can flow thoughts on paper

or fuse creations with concrete walls

Paint knows no boundaries

It connects with all my other friends

Because paint sees elements of itself in them

The Freedom.The Permanent.The Innocence

Paints also mischievous, It’s sometimes the bad conscience on my shoulder

But beauty comes out of the bad

I accomplish my public Elusiveness with the aids of my friends

Pencil.Pen.Crayon.Paint.

They make up my memories, and they keep my hands busy