I used to play the piano
Not well.
Not by any technical standard.

But I used to love that my fingers
Could drift and thunder across the keys,
without heeding any advice or rule,
and make such divine,
Impossible sounds
And I could love the crashing biting chords
that my lonely fingers bore.

I used to play the piano.
Bravely.

In most people
Bravery is made to die.

I stopped playing the piano.
The world had begun to play me
Instead.

and soon
every rule I had ever neglected
every song I had sung off key
every bit of myself that was brave enough
to sacrifice the stress of imperfection
dissipated.

Evaporated.

Scorned out by the heat of the games
the world was playing me in.

I used to play the piano.
Fearlessly
Thoughtlessly
Blissfully

there was something so enchanting
about not understanding
and not caring that I did not understand.

I wish we did not waste so much time
worrying about those notes that ring so
out of tune and time
Why can’t we see?
not all imperfections are mistakes.
those wild, winding notes–
they are not always lost.

intention and perfection are not
one in the same

I used to play the piano.
I used to be brave enough
To live with that untamed,
unapologetic
kind of bravery.

I am trying
To learn to live like that
again.