so he drew Sometimes he would draw and it wasn't anything
He wanted to carve it in stone or write it in the sky
and he would lie on the grass and look up at the sky
and it would be only him and the sky, and the things inside him that needed saying
It was after this that he drew the picture It was a beautiful picture
He put it under his pillow and would let no one see it
and he would look at it every night and think about it
When it was dark, and his eyes were closed he could still see it
and it was all of him And he loved it
When he started school he brought it with him
not to show anyone, but just to have with him like a friend
It was funny about school He sat at a square brown desk
with the other square,brown desks And he thought it should be red
and the room was a square, brown room Like all the other rooms
It was tight and close And stiff He hated to hold the pencil and chalk
with his arm stiff and his feet flat on the floor Stiff
with the teacher watching and watching The teacher came and spoke to him
She told him to wear a tie like the other boys He said he didn't like them
She said it didn't matter After that he drew
And he drew all yellow and it was the way he felt about morning
and it was beautiful The teacher came and smiled at him
"What is this?" she said, " Why don't you draw something like Ken's drawing? It is beautiful"
After that his mother bought him a tie
and he drew airplanes and rocketships like everyone else
And he threw the old picture away
and he lay alone looking at the sky - it was big and blue and all of everything
but he wasn't anymore He was square inside And his hands were stiff
He was like everyone else And the things inside him that needed saying
didn't need it anymore It had stopped pushing It was crushed
Like everything else.
Written by a high school senior student two weeks before he commited suicide.
