The little children got a new present that spring.

Their rich parents could afford it.

They loved the smiles their gift did bring.

Each boy and girl ran to the sidewalk to sit,

Their new hats and gloves professionally fit.

Only one little boy watched from the park swing.

His parents couldn’t afford such a material thing.

The jealousy he felt stung his eyes.

He was from the inter-city with no sidewalk chalk.

There is no chalk drawings where everyone dies.

It was fortunate he could still breathe and talk,

Through his city with the heartless cries.

He sits in the road, his over-sized coat is his disguise.

At eight years old, he’s hardly old enough to balk

At the lucky kids with their prize.

On his walk through the city he sees painting on the walls.

The busy city seems to whisper to the little boy.

Soon the whispers turn into angry war calls,

For the child who couldn’t afford the brand new toy.

He longed for the chance to feel the joy.

The boy didn’t want new skateboards or balls,

All he wanted was to bring color to the drab halls.

He saw an older girl with a can of spray paint,

Permanently implanting the sign of her gang.

She put her artwork on the walls without restraint.

The boy looked at the art and the freedom it sang.

He saw the curses, obscenities, and slang.

The gang members treated their girl like a saint.

They took her in quietly without a complaint.

The boy ran home crying in rage.

He shouldn’t feel this way,

Not at his young age.

He wanted to put his feelings on display,

His emotions tangled up in disarray.

The pain stayed locked up inside like a cage,

But soon the whole world would become his stage.

He took a few dollars off the kitchen table,

And ran with his heart pounding in his ears.

As he opened the paint-stained door, feeling unstable,

He saw a gang of his peers.

When he bought the paint, he was greeted with cheers.

They brought him to the building where they stole cable.

He picked up the paint and drew a label.

He looked at his artwork, full of pride.

It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His artwork was no longer trapped in him but outside.

The rush he felt came not from caffeine,

But from finally feeling serene.

His picture on the wall lied.

There was a secret meaning inside.

He and art were now united,

And he was accepted by his friends.

His artwork was now invited,

He could paint the city at all ends.

The boy no longer pretends.

With his boys he was knighted,

He was delighted.

With the thrill in the pit of his stomach, he ran.

Spray paint in one hand, the other breaks his fall.

His artwork on this side just began.

Pain in his knees from falling, he begins to crawl.

He hears it with the fear of a coyote call.

The sirens, the cops, he was going to the can!

His head span.

Sitting in the police car watching his art go by,

Tears began to sting.

The little boy could not help but cry.

He had no idea the troubles this would bring.

It was just that jealousy from that day on the park swing.

The other kids could draw from the ground to the sky.

How did his plan go awry?

He just wanted to get the thoughts out of his heart.

So much was in there, it needed to get out.

Is it so wrong to put it into art?

The police didn’t know what it was really about.

They said he was a problem child and had no doubt.

Maybe his decision wasn’t so smart,

But it was a start.

He cried all the way to the police station,

And while he was in court.

He pent up his frustration,

Because in explaining he fell short.

It wasn’t of the artistic sort.

He looked but couldn’t find his salvation,

And suddenly had an inspiration.

He sat on the cold, prison floor.

The policemen gave him one present.

All day and night he drew like never before.

It was a picture, so far from pleasant.

In the morning the officers came to the door,

And saw a picture they could not ignore.

The picture he drew was pure torment.

It was the boy’s whole life, drawn from event to event.

He handed back the chalk for he didn’t need it anymore.

They saw the pictures, they knew what it meant.

All he ever wanted was to put sidewalk chalk on cement.