Colors are not limited to the rainbow

"The greats weren't great because at birth they could paint,

         The greats were great cause they paint a lot"

-Macklemore  

My first day in Kindergarten. 

The elderly teacher approaches me as I enter,

"Hello, what's your name?"

"Insolence."

"All right Insolence, have a seat in the corner over there

and I'll get you started with some paper and a box of crayons."

"Do I get to keep the crayons?"

"Do you? Well, I'll let you in on a little secret.

They will always be with you wherever you go."

She leans down next to my ear, cupping my ear with her worn hand and gently whispers,

"Use them well"

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The smell of a new car is incredibly refreshing. But when compared to a new box of crayons, it pales in comparison. The scent of the new paper, cardboard, and tangible colors combined with the anticipation of the limitless doodles, scribbles, and masterpieces now at your disposal. 

Junior High.

My friends at lunch bring me

into a conversation they are having.

"Hey Insolence, what is your favorite car?"

"Me? I don't care as long as it runs well."

Another friend chimes in,

"Come on man, haven't you ever read about the really nice ones?"

"No, I just like to spend my time learning about crayons."

"Crayons? You need to learn about something that's cooler"

"From what I can tell, your yellow, blue, and 

red-orange crayons are terribly underused."

"Huh?"

"I can tell you don't create with your colors very often"

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We are all entitled to a box of crayons, and no one has any influence as to the condition they are in, and the usage of them, except the individual. I find that I tend to be attracted to those with the worn out but well loved boxes the most.

The most beautiful people I know of are the ones that have their crayons embedded into their very soul. Every thought, every action, every breath is a creation of art. They color outside of the lines and will receive criticism, but don't let others dictate how they use their box. When they sleep, they lay on vivid memories and dream for the whole world to see. Each step they take is the stroke of a brush and everywhere they walk is a canvas filled with their existence, their masterpieces.

High School.

I lean over to the new girl sitting in the desk to the left of mine.

"What kind of math is that?"

Surprised, she looks up and says, "calculus"

"Oh, I would help, but I've never been good with math"

"Me either."

My curiosity was piqued, "why is that?"

"It's impossible to do any of the problems
since I only know how to draw.  And..."

Her voice trails off as she notices the box of crayons in my hand.

Pupils widen as we simultaneously shift our glances to meet the other.

In an instant, we both understood.

We stood up together and proceeded to walk out of the classroom and then the school, ignoring the threats and the taunts and the jeers of the administrative powers and our peers.

"I love how vibrant you are."

"I love your mix of ideas and colors."

And we left that place forever.



A few witnesses claim to have seen a trail of color following where we walked. A trail that none could attempt to describe due to feeling unable to adequately convey how those shades and pigments danced on the pavement like wildfire.



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There is nothing more beautiful than someone who creates the most wondrous works of art with their 12 color boxes.

There is nothing more tragic than someone who has a 72 color set and has it on the back shelf, untouched other than the company of cobwebs and cold dust.

Discover what your crayons mean to you.

"Use them well"

- Your Captain, Insolence is Bliss