Page 1, I recently discovered an old journal of my writing from when I was 10 to 12. This is part of the collection.
This poem I think I wrote when I was having trouble with my piano.
I stare at the items before me
It’s a job I don’t want to do
I try, I try but I can’t seem to
Do all the things I’m asked of
I’m encouraged, bribed but still I can’t
As each day goes by the task gets harder
I know I should do it I really do try
At first it was fun In a way it still is
But the paper lies there with the pencil on top
The keys sit dusty and untouched
Everyone says I’m good
That it’s a great skill to have
As I sit, the mood won’t come
My task is left undone.
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