The Beauty of a Piano

the beauty of a piano
is scratched
when I bow my head down
and ask my mother
do I have to keep going?
the beauty of a piano
is hurt
When I slam stop
because I’m blocked
I’m thinking about my hair
wether I should straighten it tomorrow
the beauty of a piano
is distorted
when I can’t play
because this was supposed to be easy
the beauty of a piano
is me
playing free
behind me is the river
and all of it’s trees
the window is open
and I can hear air
then I’m there
the beauty of a piano





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