“pick up to one fifteen”

I raise my flute to lips

"…one, two, three, and…”

the hall erupts with musics

as I try my best to play along

and to keep up the facade

of all the stories I am told

by those for whom I care

that i deserve to be here

to play among my peers

that I’m better than i think,

than i let myself believe

they don’t understand

I am undeserving of the praise

still, I play along

and don’t cry

until I’m alone again

I’d hate to be a failure

and a problem