The shadow of a black line


From the British Library Alice in Wonderland Coloring Book

Some part of my lead, ink, or wax escapes the lines of “perfection” every time I color something.

My first pieces of coloring were a mess. The colors were not what they were in real life, and lines were everywhere.

I didn’t pay attention to strangers or onlookers who would judge me. I was me, and I accepted that. I didn’t even know people could judge someone.

Nothing and no one could change me. Ever.

I then grew up a little bit and learned what colors were and what color objects and animals were supposed to be. At this time, I would try my best to color inside the lines, but it would never work. There would always be a stray line.

I started to be aware of the outside world. I noticed when people were looking at me. Judging my outfit choices. Criticizing my weird acting, my deranged dancing, my loud talking, my bad coloring. I still colored outside the lines.

I colored outside the lines from the first time I picked up a crayon until around sixth grade. People would look at me. I would look back. I ignored the hate they were sending my way. I surrounded myself with accepting people.

Occasionally, a smidge of color will escape the confines of the black line.”

No one could change me. Ever.

I eventually learned how to color. I can color inside the lines. I color things an acceptable, realistic color.

I realized I had to cool my inner child. I was a teenager. More and more people would look at me and attempt to send me to an insane asylum. My outfits were assimilated into those of others around my age. My outside beliefs grew like theirs.

But, occasionally, a smidge of color will escape the confines of the black line.

I will be my crazy inner child. My wacky outfits show up. My berserk ideas escape my mouth and end up in the minds of my friends. Usually this is around the people I can trust most, but sometimes that smidge of color is bigger than my inner child intended, and sometimes it extends into the general society.

No one could change me. Ever. At least not completely.

The black lines of coloring pages are the enemy of my inner child. Most of the time it wins the war. But, sometimes, I break through those enemy lines and win a battle.