This was written for Writing 201: Poetry
A cacophony of deafening personalities,
Fighting for individuality
In the midst of a war
That cannot end.
If we had nothing to battle,
What would we do
With our emerging identities?
In a symphony of adolescent instrumentals,
I am the piano,
Dancing quietly below the louder instruments,
Just soft enough to remain underneath their notes
But important enough that without me
The entire piece would fall flat
And be reduced to nothing
But useless noise.
I must pay close attention
To every note I play;
One misstep and the piece comes crashing
Down around our sunburned ears.
No matter how cautious I am,
There will always be the one line
That my fingers stumble over:
I’ve learned to keep moving,
And smile like I haven’t royally fucked up.