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To him, the sky was blue.
The grass green.
An apple red.
He wanted to be an artist so the world could see his creativity.
But soon he was forced to attend school.
School.
To him, school was a funny thing.
A little square room
Full of little square desks
And he was forced to add
And subtract
And write
But never draw
Or sculpt
Or color.
Soon, to him, the sky
It was not blue.
It was grey.
The grass
It no longer had color.
An apple
No longer red.
He no longer had dreams of being an artist
He no longer cared.
He was taught that no one would care.
School
A little square room
Full of little square desks
And his imagination was no longer full of ideas.
It was a square
An uncolored square
With not his ideas, but the school's.
A square.

Written by: BobManPerson

14 June 2008

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