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Coping
Crying, shaking, playing.
I sit in my chair,
Perfect posture,
Round ambouchure,
The orchestra playing behind me.
They don't know
That this is how
I get my anger out.
All those people calling
Me fat,
All the failed relationships,
Everything that I need
To get out
Comes out in a
cloud of music.
All the feelings come out
To be sixteenth notes
In symphanies,
Solos in concerts,
Imrpovs in band.
I get everything out
In that chair.
And when practise is
Over,
I come back
To reality
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