My fingers in my harp

My harp is a haven,
From everything that is not right,
My harp is lovely and it has strings,
The strings are pulled really tight,
And when I pull on them,
A song comes out piercing the quiet,
I can make loud notes and soft ones.

Occasionally, I'll get stuck,
With my fingers in the strings,
Then I'll go onto something harder like Canon in D.
Once I play Canon in D,
I go back to the previous song and play it,
With many kinks.
I really think,
That the harder the song,
That there's most likely to be nothing wrong,
But even the simplest ones,
Cause us groans.
I hate when that happens,
How I can see things that are big,
But when they're small,
They seem like Trig.

I practice my two hours,
When they say practice makes perfect,
I realize its a lie.
Feeling makes perfect.
You can't feel a song that simply isn't one.
You can feel a song that is intricate,
And familiar one.
Why can't songs be made to feel and not be without any individuality?