I like crans better

Crans. 

Cray-ons. 

Crans. 

I like crans better. 

My mom never even let me near the treacherous Sharpie. The fear of me waging a full fledged war on the white walls of the kitchen was too much for her to handle. And yet, I was given a jumbo pack of 23 crayons for school. (The white crayon doesn't count). 

I won that war on the walls even if I didn't acquire the help of the deadly Sharpie.  Every bit of my imagination, creativity, and soul was poured into that work of art. And I got every bit as much punishment to match. 

The young me was completely devastated. I had no clue why I was getting such severe torture, when all I wanted was praise for my efforts. From that day I've never really liked using crayons. At least a pencil has an eraser.

There are no mistakes when using an instrument such as a crayon. 

How dare society leave such permanent tools in the hands of children. 

Once you escape the safety of the small black lines, there is no going back. 

But,  that's the point...

Maybe we all just need to escape the lines and create something permanently revolutionary.