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Orchestra

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They Gather
and there is nothing beautiful
about them.
They are unceremonious.
Loud and rude.
They are misfits and strivers
who wear too much black.
It is their flag
of individuality.
Of insecurity.

They sit
and there is nothing beautiful
about them.
They are too much chaos
for this room to bear.
There aren't enough stitches
to hold their seams together.
They are the perfect facade,
and I am
almost fooled.

But then they play
their instruments,
the thing they know,
and everything is beautiful
about them.





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