My Violin and I

A piece of wood so finely tuned,

Vibrating strings tightly wound,

Strands of horsehair stretched so tight,

Oh, how I find so much delight!


Making music from the heart,

Pouring your very soul into the part,

Giving yourself away piece by piece by piece,

To an audience who will never understand,

What it means to make,

To create,

To practice for hours upon hours upon hours alone,

Pleading with the music,

To show,

Just a sign,

That all my attempts are not in vain,

That my mistakes are lessening,

That I’m not going insane,

That I can do this if only I try again and again and again,

To make myself heard,

Because that’s what I strive to do,

To make you feel the emotions I am going through,

To relate on a level that is not just words.


Because as much as I am a part of it,

It is a part of me.


And I’m sorry if you cannot see,

Cannot understand,

Cannot comprehend,

The time we’ve spent together staring at a music stand.

It may be just an object to you,

But to me it is who I am.


So please,

Be careful,

You have my life in your hands.

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