And you curl on your bed
Wishing nobody was looking for you
Wishing you were a piece of crayon,
safe and sound inside the crayon box,
at least until the bullies come and rip you apart
Things get hard
You pray that you can stand tomorrow
Then you remember that you prayed the same thing yesterday
So now you add,
that you don't wanna pray tomorrow,
at least not the same thing
Things get messy
And you try so hard to keep it all together
You try so hard to make it count
Upon which you start wonder
how these tiny hands can hold so much,
at least until they break
