Play me like a piano

Let your fingers glide over my keys

Strike a chord

Resounding and clear

Make music that everyone can hear


Write a melody

And play of me a song

Make music out of my impurities 

As the day grows long


Not everyone will like

The music that is played

But it isn't me, 

The piano,

At the end of the day

It is their own ears

That block out the sound-

The sounds of the soul

That come from deep deep down


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741