This poem was originally the "why I am not" poem assignment. I Chose to post this piece of work because I enjoy the reality of it, and the slight humor that is incorporated. As a writer, it shows my ability to write poems of this sort, and I am very happy with the final piece.
Why I am not a Musician
I am a musician
HAHA no I am not.
My fingers do not bend
to play a guitar,
they do not glide,
to play a piano
they do not bang,
to play the drums.
I envy my sister,
“You are a waste of talent Miranda,
why don’t you even perform?
You could at least play for the family.”
“But Zack,
I do not think I am good,
or even okay.
You do not understand,
what it is like to have people
watching just you.
They watch your team.”
This is true,
my hands move,
to make a catch
my legs cut,
to get away from a defender,
because I am an athlete.
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