I am...

I am from simple interest, finally five years old.

I am from ideas of classical and more, dating back centuries.

I am from heavy keys and empty hands.

From warbling radios and powerhouse vocals.

I am from endless hours and sour chords.

I am from sudden crescendos and countless sunsets.

I am from echoing walls and shaking speakers.

From pounding temples and moments of silence.

I am from pumping hearts and falling scales.

I am from rhythmic foot tapping and black lace flats.

I am from swaying bodies and small, blissful smiles.

From crinkled sheets and shuffling papers.

I am from stifling hot spaces and pink faces.

I am from carpet floors and unstable music stands.

I am from plastic protectors and windy days.

From dreams of bravo and standing ovation.

This poem is about: 


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