A Box of Crayons

When I was in Junior High, I was given the assignment to write about my friends. Now, as a high schooler, I've written another contrasting it.

JUNIOR HIGH:
We are a box of crayons,
An assortment of shapes and sizes and colors.
Claire-
The green one that looks perfect
but, thankfully, isn’t,
Becca-
red,
tall,
loud,
caring,
not perfect,
but close enough.
Black: Rylee,
the sure one,
never wrong,
simple,
but true.
I am blue,
sometimes light,
quiet,
but I can be dark, too,
and LOUD.
My paper wrapper may be ripped,
but I am solid inside.
Sarah-
yellow.
At the side of the box,
forgotten on rainy days,
but always there
to cheer up the picture.
No matter what we are called-
friends,
or crayons,
we are better together.
Unlike some,
we have a box that holds us tight,
together.
Friends.


HIGH SCHOOL:
We lay scattered across the floor
the light can't find us any more
we are lost
among all the others
shades of gray and black
that don't want to make a rainbow
that are broken

somehow I'm expected to color my own picture
but without purple and red and yellow
I don't know how

so I try to find the rest of us
but it's hard when our box has been ripped to peices
they don't understand
we are each our own color, but we need each other
I may be bigger now
but that doesn't mean I'm stronger

and I see the others start to fade away
their brilliance is lost is the sea of darkness
and I'm afraid I, too
will be lost
weak
alone
a rainbow without color