violinista

I have learned that over time,

something we love most dearly

can turn to something we hate

take the wood at my versatile hands

as my fingers flutter across the fingerboard

watch me make music, music I love,

from something I despise so strongly

something that over the years,

meant to build my prestige, my intelligence, my talent

has drained me of myself,

and taken the happiness from the art of creation

a decade of lovely slavery

to the musical hell which I find myself at home,

a room that has lost its light

a light bulb that flickers

no,

this music is dying within me

I want to drop the violin where I stand

but time is my shackle

and I must not, can not give in

Author's Note