Adult Colouring Book / Regression

What's so 'adult' about a colouring book
I find my mind aching to ask
When it ponders momentarily along this line of questioning
In between its tasks


What's so 'adult' about finding the perfect hue to use
To fill in pages of ink inscribed figures, acute and obtuse

In all honesty, haven't we been here before?
Painting the sky magenta, scribbling on our doors

Haven't we already accumulated a cardboard box of broken stencils, from the summers of our past
Ran our mouths faster than the splattering paint we'd watch dry, back when we thought time couldn't pass by us too fast?


I don't recall back then, for some reason
Having a colouring book tell me who it was meant for, and what I ought to do
So why is it that we're older now, it finds the need to affirm to me, "hey, I am meant for you?"

Almost as if it can hear me question,
my book - comes to life
And whispers with the passing breeze,
" It is only as you grow older, that you begin to seek permission to feel alive"

Permission to say what it is want to say, as you pretend to heed what you think you ought to heed
Permission to let yourself believe for once,
that a colouring book is still something you need.

See, this is the kind of permission that is never sought
By children who remain unhindered by the fear of falling short
Who do not require the quiet reassurance you seek now - to feel worthy and able
To be one amongst other strangers sharing crayons, deserving of your seat on that table.

Who colour out of line and smudge their shirts,
as they sing from their hearts, free and pure
Emit giggles that you remain too busy to hear , in your perpetual search for a 'cure'

Who will never paint the sky the only colour you constrain yourself into shading, in your strife to replicate perfectly every hue of blue
Who will stare you down and say with conviction , "My sky is lime green + fanta orange, who says it can't be true?"







From where you sit at the table shirking, shoulders hunched, hands splayed wide
Tell me - when was the last time that you were offered some respite?

From drawing immaculate circles with stencils you can't afford to break
Impressing upon every crayon used, a sense of urgency, " there's no room for a mistake"

When was the last time you put all your faith in a quivering hand, and saw it as something you could trust?
Did something for yourself, or at least for a reason that didn't begin with , " Well, I thought I must"
The kids that sit beside you, with their chipped teeth and paint dipped fingers, do not need to be told
The way you need to , the older you grow, to colour outside the mold

As they crawl under tables and hide behind the artichoke leaves of a heart that learns to fill itself with doubt
I find myself intervening before all the lights go out

And that is why you'll see in bold,
words that push you to feel young, free and wild
" Colouring book - For Adults."
Go, become a child."