I am creative and musical.
I wonder what I will end up being when I grow up.
I hear music flowing from my iPod and swirling around me like mist.
I see my face reflected in the silvery surface of my euphonium.
I want to write, compose for, and act in a musical.
I am creative and musical.
I pretend that I am the heroine in a story, bravely battling the dangers of some far-off future.
I feel my pencil scratching new worlds onto a sheet of paper.
I touch my origami paper, carefully creasing each fold to perfection.
I worry that I will fail a test.
I cry only when deeply touched or grieved by something.
I am creative and musical.
I understand that the careers I want to have the most are only really succeeded at by one in a million people.
I say that music and writing pushes clutter to the edges of the soul and mind.
I dream of playing a difficult classical piece on the piano, my fingers barely brushing the keys as they fly to play stacattoes and slurs.
I try to maintain good grades and chase my dreams as far as they can go.
I hope that I will be able to fulfill my dreams.
I am creative and musical.