White crayon

She is a white crayon. Neglected, ignored, untouched. She quietly sits in the box, patiently waiting to unleash the potential within. However, patience is disappearing like a candle wick licked by flame. She can no longer watch pink, yellow, purple and so on get picked over and over while she pours her tears silently, the world oblivious of her existence. She is a white crayon. The very color of compassion, innocence and purity - the very core of her humanity. Those are the things that she cannot see for herself, for she is dumbstruck by the show of colors around her. She is on the sidelines, never moving, never speaking. She simply sits there and admires every little thing she sees. She watches as Pink gets passed on from hand to hand, she thinks Pink is so pretty. There goes Red. Ah, Red. A mixture of admiration and fear runs through her veins. Red turns heads as she walks. Red is majestic. Red is fearless. Red is breath-taking. Red scares the scream out of her. She halts her thoughts before they become too distressing.

Oh dearest White, if only someone can tell you that you are the most special thing. You are the center of this box, the center of gravity which holds each and everyone in their right places. Your innocence clouds your thoughts. You are too good to always regard others before your own. You never see other's faults, just your own. White, you are not perfect, but neither is anyone else. Just remember that without you, there would be no pretty Pink, and with you, majestic Red is simply just pretty Pink.You are not powerless. And you know what? People may always pass you by, and you may cry about it, but to hell with those people! They are ordinary with eyes only for their likes. You are one special thing which holds beauty and potential to the eyes of a true talented artist.Until that artist comes, you must always always remember to never doubt who you are. You are White. You are the very color of compassion, innocence and purity.