They Call me the Scribbler

by Maple Tree   Oct 19, 2016


Brown crayon's cross over lines
rebellious, was my nickname.
I continued my boundary skipping
with flare and pizzazz.

I mixed colors twixt circles
as daydreams became poems,
they wanted a robot, back in 1978.

When tutu's weren't accepted
I danced with elegance in the rain,
they labeled me different.

Late at night, I would read Edger Allen Poe
because I connected with his raven,
I found Lenore intriguing;
and my mother would never approve.

A lost child can be found as a teary adult
just wanting answers that they should have answered
years ago-

So I wouldn't have felt guilty all these years
for scribbling outside of the lines....

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Latest Comments

  • 8 years ago

    by Naughtymouse

    Like a Shovelhead on a racetrack, it's different but will still go around as good as the next. ( just with ALOT more style :))

  • 8 years ago

    by Milly Hayward

    As Michaels already said 'breathtaking' love the way you brought in literature references too. I also remember Edgar Allen Poe late at night. Milly xx

  • 8 years ago

    by Brenda

    Amen Andrea, amen- so many of us "different" children have grown to find our niche in this world. Some are still searching. Your poem was spot on. This is just beautiful! Thank you for sharing...hugs....Brenda

  • 8 years ago

    by Sunshine

    Fantastic Andrea.

  • 8 years ago

    by Em

    Andrea, this is elegant, unique and obviously personal but one where many of us can relate as we have probably all been classed as different because we don't go with the flow so to speak. I was 'different' because I enjoyed reading and poetry from a young age and people didn't like that.
    We should all be different as being the same is boring though.

    Michael the image of you in a tutu will stay with me forever lol :)

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