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My Piano

I wanted to be mad at somebody,
So I got mad at my piano.
It didn’t talk back,
It just added beauty
To every blow I dealt.
It didn’t mind when I
Attacked in frustration,
And it didn’t mind
When I went suddenly silent.
It invited my anger,
Begged to be played
Passionately – not dutifully.

Author notes

I didn't know how to end it, so I stopped writing at this point.

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