It is time.
Twelve pairs of eyes
look to the side
to catch sight
of the next performer.
My blood runs colder.
Heart beats faster;
its thumps grow louder
as I draw nearer
to the instrument.
The room is silent.
I make an announcement:
"There is much room for improvement
which is why I'm playing tonight
so you can help me better my interpretation.
"And also,
I've finished learning it this afternoon, not long ago
so if there are many wrong notes
I apologize."
And then, stage fright.
Alright.
I guide my left and right
to a row of black and white
with one foot ready on the pedal.
Pause. Deep breath. I settle.
I start. And tremble.
Shaking, shuddering, trembling.
From the moment I start playing,
my fingers won't stop shivering
from the blood freezing in my veins.
I then make a mistake.
Too late.
No time for retakes.
There is no escape.
I march on.
Time feels short yet long.
Though wordless is this song
my mouth is part open;
for every note I play wrong
I bite my bottom lip.
My fingertips
can't help but trip
and slip
over white valleys and black hilltops.
When will this stop?
It's tempting to drop.
It's clear I'm a flop.
It's better to drop
and end this suffering.
Yet I keep going.
I keep playing.
Pausing, forgetting,
recalling, and searching.
Playing and trying,
pressing and pedaling,
reaching for the finish line.
It's almost time.
These shaky hands of mine
that've played far from fine
finger the finish line
and put an end to this torture.
There I sit. Look away. And shudder.
I'm a failure.