We are all in the same box

Just a story about crayons living side by side

We are all in the same box

Why can't you see how beautiful we all are?
There are way too many colors to put one against the other
We stand neatly in a row and you get to choose which one you will use
Some are weary and worn-down while others are broken
Some are thrown away for they have already spoken
Sometimes we close the lid and color is seen no more
Sometimes we share the bad ones with children who are poor
What happens when no one is looking do they see the enemy
And scream and holler to one another why the hell are you next to me
I see your worn down and not as tall as you were before
Can't you afford new coverings and become as you were once more
Do they blend and hope for the chance to be held and to be chosen?
Or do they sit idly in the back and never know why they are posing
Some speak more loudly and others hope one day to be desired
To paint a form so beautiful that would set the world on fire
Is color so important that we use it for every caper?
A box of crayons all stand together to put beauty on a piece of paper