With shiny new braces comes new strings,
Longer torsos to longer melodies
My first steps resembled one of a drunk man’s waltz.
When Does Art Become A Chore?
PRACTICE PRACTICE PRACTICE!
friends.
PRACTICE PRACTICE PRACTICE!
math.
PRACTICE PRACTICE PRACTICE!
grow.
Aspiring parents, Pushing prodigy—
While our very own Mozart hopes to get sand in his eyes but actually wants to play
Pretty Pretty Princess with his baby sister.
(He wants the tiara this time—
she cheats and it’s not fair.)
When
Does
Art
Escape
Coercion?
I stand a solid 5’2”.
“You grow in other ways.”
Maybe the other 10 inches left my height and made home in my fingers to sustain longer chords.
I’m not tall like Dad.
I’ve grown out and around of myself
Splitting hair: from one becomes two.
Someone ripped only some of my connective tissue.
But loose threads stay loose threads until tugged,
And then we become nothing but
disfigured
string.
