hey, not bad kid.
you been practicing that?
learning all the tricks,
figuring out the secrets,
putting in the hours,
working hard,
doing what you
live for?

I can tell,
and someday,
they'll put your name
up in the big flashing neon lights,
you'll be a superstar,
they'll all love you then,
they'll watch you intently,
gazes fixed and eyes widened.
then you can show them
all about your skill,
your technique,
more flawless than the thoughtless
fingers of a master guitarist
as they dance and flutter
over the fretboard.

because you--
you have ideas
that nobody else has ever thought.
you've got it down!
you can make it
float in the air like a leaf,
wiggle like a worm
wriggling in the mud,
swim like a slow-motion-astronaut
jumping on the moon,
quiver and flip over
like a struggling fish
on the deck of a boat,
spin like a top,
even sprint across the finish line
like a breathless runner.

but none of that,
kid,
is worth ****,
unless you can make it sing.
and i mean fly like a falcon,
effortlessly though the air,
soaring,
beautiful,
mesmerizing.

you have to cram it all,
every emotion, thought,
every piece of piece of this puzzle
that is existence,
and jam into one note,
one step,
one jumpshot,
one stroke of your magic paintbrush
only you can use,
and then,
maybe,
somebody will notice you.

so keep trying kid;
you never had a choice.