Give Me Music

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

This was taking from a journal entry I wrote at three in the morning one day in the hallway of my dorm. I was having a bad night and so desperately missed my piano and band. I really liked my journal entry.

I can't sleep. I miss music too much. Give me spacious rooms so I can feel the passion. I can watch it bleed through the room and change the walls different colors. Give me an audience of judgmental eyes. Give me a teacher who slaps me on the back of the head, screams so loud I see spit on my sheet music, and threatens to rips off my ears if I don't practice or my eyes if I look at my hands. Let me feel the panic of a fucked up piece in rehearsal. My pounding heart reminds me that I'm still alive.

No! Wait! Keep the claustrophobic. Give me sweaty bodies. Give me constant accidental touching as we reach for notes and chords that blend together in tearful passion. Give me backs pressed against walls that pound against us as we fight against bleeding fingers and almost broken vocal chords and passing out from heat exhaustion and dehydration.

Lately, I'm in an empty room, too small to remind me that I could potentially be important one day. When I listen close enough, I hear the wood of the piano respond to the questions my fingers ask the keys. I have to remind the air that the questions weren’t meant for it, but then I remember that I'm just talking to myself. That doesn't show me that I'm really here. I can do that in my dreams... or death. I look around the room as the notes absorb back into the piano. I remember that I'm completely and utterly alone. Music isn't like this, at least, it didn't use to be.


Submitted: November 08, 2014

© Copyright 2021 Katya Yermakova . All rights reserved.

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