So many sleepless nights
that I can smell coffee in my urine,
wondering if anyone will be
feeling as inadequate as me.
Why is it so hard
to make something sound easy?
Will I complete anything to
anyone's fruition?
To my own?
To pleasure?
Or always to pain?
I am just the ruddy-faced girl
trying to turn a piano into an instrument
or at least a tool.
Wanting to put the rapture in others
that music has put in me.
All I have are words
and the songs of my heart,
which are quite odd,
but then again,
I myself, am quite odd,
and I can cause smiles,
and I know
more than anyone,
that a smile can save a life.
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