Box Of Markers by Jeronica

Lets go back to the days where fighting was over a,

Black marker, or the last cup of kool-aid.

Where fighting was between only whom it had to deal with

Where preschool suns emerge on manila colored paper,

And not who it doesn’t

Pass me the yellow marker,

Where chalk meets the sidewalk

Before hopscotch turned to party hop.

Back so that the lost generation finds you

Passing cooties, instead of STDs

Instead of stressing out about recessions

Concession stands at home games turned into

We need our childhood back;

Little girls, bo-bo's and tu-tus

Let the games begin.

Baby boy overalls with the snot running down his nose.

Where we cared about "time-outs" on Recess playgrounds

Teenage girls best dressed competitions at ball games.

Played so hard, coming home with grass stained knees,

I'm talking forced to eat your vegetables on the table green.

Nowadays you aint sh*t if you aint cop those new jordans

Last week, and the week before or before that young man died over

Back in the day, equal education was something to die for

Four little girls in a double dutch rope, in the middle of the street,

Pass me the green,

Can I borrow your purple marker.

Multicolor laces on Kswiss, three stripes, shelltoes

Some concords.

Violence, gun violence, domestic violence.

Did you happen to get a white magic marker?

For the young girls who still believe in weddings 

When waiting for the right one, was the right thing to do.

 we have more hoes than pimps do and more dogs than the hound….

Back when hot cocoa fell in love with rosy cheeks kissed by winter time;

When homeboys were shy about asking homegirls for dances;

And white dresses.

But, unfortunately,

But we living in a humane society, right?

Can I dig into your box for a pink marker?

Just before high school valentine's day dances

Now it's demanding, over- romancing

And mama knew about those red popped 

cherry marker…..

the color that described your face when the family found out.

Now we got open legs for sale, and fancy new babies coming soon,

Lonely mamas in church pews,

And a box full of excuses of no daddy blues.

Marker….blue….

Boy, have times changed

 adapt to the fall of yester-year's generation,

Watch these leaves change

I borrowed your orange,

Back when orange slices satisfied granny's sweet tooth.

Before orange was the only color that suited you…

After little kids carved pumpkins, for pumpkin seeds.

Before realizing black is as empty as your box of markers.

I used your brown.

After realizing my skin is not black.

Nevertheless, it is beautiful.

Just like the other colors I snatched from you.

For the young girls who forget who they are,

Washable.

Buried in makeup and clothes either too fitted or not fitted at all.

For the young boys who haven’t been able to remember it takes

Years to become a man, understand, a high school diploma and a

It seems Crayola has been producing new colors, without me.

Job don’t make you just that.

Dear lost generation, I hope you find me,

-Jeronica