January 9, 2018

My world slants
as I march to the scaffold—
a stage
meticulously adorned with ribbons
and holiday wreaths.
Imprisoned to the bench,
my hands
are shackled to the ivory;
witnesses watch
as I carry out the crime.

The piano—polished, refined,

emits a sound comically grotesque.

When the torment ends
I stand. I bow.

Apologies on my tongue.

Like a noose
pity hangs


The dissonant harmony,
it fades
into the audience
with me.

The author's comments:

My last piano performance I’ve ever done in front of a large group of people went something like this. Though I still practice in my down time, my social anxiety for performance still sits with me to this day.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Speaks

Smith Summer

Wellesley Summer