Blurred Drawing

One day I decided to draw myself,
All I needed was a white paper and crayons.
I laboriously doodled,
Despite my shaky hands.

As shapes began to take form,
My crayon broke within my trembling hands.
I pressed it too hard, and the tip grew cold,
Causing the lines to disobey.

I flipped to a fresh white paper,
Unsuccessful attempts to trace my eyes.
My hands feared what lay inside,
Were my childhood fears blurring the drawing?

Many sketches later, an unfamiliar shape forms.
Body, and hair perfectly shaded.
Face though, bland and blank.
No difference, I was faceless.

My boots crash the crayons as I walk away,
Faceless dreams haunt me.
Should I try one last time?
Maybe this time my hands will chime.