Internal Combustibility

Internal Combustibility

No one believed
that I
could play a mean piano.

This, however, was the truth
and I'd often sit by myself in a practice room,
pouring out my heart with Chopin—the only damned
son
who'd understand.
It was the piano, you see.
That taught me pain, or at least what pain could be
and how damned awful
it could hurt to express it.
To comfort your soul
to love life
to have fullness and exist
with pain to bring about true living.
That was what I learned,
in that lonely room--
pouring out my heart into those fucking black and whites.