Struggling Musician

I play an A chord and close my eyes
Letting the vibrations into my soul
Calming me, the harmony resonates
Until my bones are resting

I strum a few more scrambled chords
Allowing my ears to meet my fingers
And the notes hum unafraid of time
As we wait for the next airplane

Then a suit drops a dollar into my case
What the fuck? Am I poor musician now?
Begging for coins at the airport? No! Fuck you!
My soul doesn’t need your charity.

But reality sinks deep. I don’t have a plan.
A failed audition and no invitation to greatness.
Maybe I am a starving musician.
Maybe these chords do beg for your attention.

This poem is for #NaPoWriMo, prompt for Day 2.

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