I watch the music maker
and wonder if he holds his women
the same assured way he holds his guitar.
I wonder if his fingers memorize their curves
the same way they memorize measures.
I wonder what he does with his sheet music
when it has nothing left for him to learn.
If I were his, I’d insist he hand it to me.
Each stack I’d fold into delicate flying creatures
and send them off into the sky.
With their pointed wings,
they’d strum clouds and pluck stars—
making messages in melodies
to remind the world
why she chooses to keep spinning.

The truth is told in many lies
And mastery is hidden in disguise
For we are afraid of what we may not be
That our inner souls, our minds, are rarely free

A true talent, shielded, hidden
Afraid the concept will be forbidden
In rejection, the soul withheld
To conformity, we will meld

Though if it is told, when boldly spoken
And the congress minds are open
An impactful force may be seen
A whirlwind of thoughts, minds reeling

Forthright ideas make us grow
Yet, many things, we may never know
For as our bodies yearn to be free
Afraid, we conform, to the existing society