Palms

There was a little girl holding a box of crayons in her hand,
and as she held them, she knew exactly why they had to be lined up this way.

Green can't be with Indigo. Blue can't be with Red.
Yellow can't stay beside Violet though they'd make a lovely pair.
Black and White stood side by side, away from all the rest,
bullied for the beauty they cannot give.

"The rainbow's order must be followed.
That's the way things were.
That's the way things are.
That's the way things will be,"
says they who see the world through prism eyes,
who uphold the order as it is and nothing else.

But she couldn't understand just exactly why.

She rubbed her tiny nose, annoyed.
So many limitations, so little choices!
And so she broke all the crayons with her small, chubby hands.

Breaking them
bit by
        b
            i
              t
until they were nothing but misshapen pieces of color.

And they fell on the ground, one by one.
      Thud.
                  Thud.
                              Thud.
And they were destroyed, scattered, and mixed in one colorful pile.


Perhaps no one's going to bother arranging them now.