A World Drawn in Pencil

by The Cowl Editor on April 8, 2022


by Caitlin Bartley ’24

pencil drawings of hands with pencils
Photo courtesy of pixabay.com

I like to imagine that the world was drawn in pencil,

my body an illustration on a canvas.

Just think of all the things I could fix,

stretch marks on my thighs

erased like crooked lines on geometry homework,

coffee stains on my teeth

erased like dirty smudges on clean parchment.

I could sketch contours on my cheeks,

curves on my hips,

life in my eyes.

I like to imagine that the world was drawn in pencil,

my thoughts a rough draft of prose.

Just think of all the things I could fix,

foolish love notes and empty promises

that I’ve written in pen.

I cross out the words a thousand times

but they don’t budge,

mistakes stained on paper like sins on a soul,

names etched into diaries like runes on an ancient tomb.

If they were written with pencil,

I could scrub at the page with an eraser until it was rubbed raw,

leaving nothing behind but a blank sheet

and the ghost of a confession.

If the world was drawn in pencil,

I could rearrange the planets,

realign the stars,

rewrite fate.

I could create constellations,

conquer astrology,

devise a personal game of connect-the-dots.

I could master the universe,

the celestial bodies once crafted by the hands of gods

now at the disposal of my fingertips.

There’s a painting in a museum called The World,

billions of people pass it every day.

I join them and watch from afar

behind a rope of velvet that feels more like steel,

pencil in my pocket,


I listen to art connoisseurs whisper about

brushstrokes and color palettes,

what they might mean.

I don’t know what to think.

I stand in front of the painting until the museum closes,

wishing the world was drawn in pencil.

There is so much I want to fix.


An Ode to My Dark Circles.

by The Cowl Editor on October 21, 2021


a drawing of a face
Image courtesy of Mariela Flores ’23

by Mariela Flores ’23


It’s as if someone cut you out of a magazine

and glued you under my eyes.

You are the accessory that I have been given,

even in my well-rested times.

I’ll always know when I’m tired

but I won’t ever need an eyeshadow base,

and even if I don’t like you that morning,

you’ll always be a part of my face.


You’re the star witness of my best nights writing

your brown-ish purple hue lets others know that I am still fighting.

I keep my darkest secrets in the roundness of your bags

the swollen fragile skin stays soft despite the tags.

They remind me of my father whenever I look in the mirror.

Caffeine courses through our blood and it helps us see much clearer.


I don’t know who I’d be if you weren’t there.

Makeup tried to hide you

but I didn’t like the feeling or the purple-lacking stare.

I see now you are my inheritance

a face I cannot escape,

but I’ll always remember to love

my tired face.

Chuckleheadz Discuss The Most Important Thing In The World

by Connor Zimmerman on February 27, 2020

Comics and Drawings

by Mark Fairchild ’20

Fitz is at a bar with Mook and asks him if it's sad that he cares more about Tom Brady's life than he does his own
Cartoon by Mark Fairchild ’20