Never Love a Musician

There are some notes 

in a few songs 

that say your name. 

There are some fingers 

on a few guitars 

that play your way. 

And I have to hold my breath 

while I wait for the sound to pass, 

for the startled ripples over the stillness that was my heart 

to subside. 

Strum, flick, slap, beatbeatbeat 

---and breathe. 

There is one instrument I will never trust

--not again--

A fickle player of emotions, 

a lovestruck piece of wood and wire,

--it sets my ears on fire. 

I'll do my best, to close the backs of my eyes against that image, 

--risen unbidden-- 

of your rounded fingertips 

constructing sound, 

expressing feeling 

the only way you ever could.

Isn't it funny how, 

I can't remember the way your mouth tastes 

or the way your skin smells 

or the way your eyes shine 

or the way you walk, talk, sleep, smile, and breathe. 

But when I hear a single note 

I can remember anything 

You tried to teach me once, 

how to play a few of the simplest chords 

on the wires strung up on your heart. 

The only thing I think I learned 

was to never love a musician 

because they'll just keep playing, playing, 

playing, playing... playing you for a fool...

Reviews

[Pixie Meat]

This poem is so true...I loved a musician once, and that's really how it was. I was able to relate to every verse. This is definately one of my favorite poems up on this site. You did a fantastic job with the imagery and with the emotion most of all. You explained everything so well, it felt like I was reading my own diary, my own experiences were writen down in words that were much better than I could have explained them on my own. No suggestions at all, this poem is perfect. The first verse leads the reader in perfectly, and the last lines made me tear up. Beautifully executed. All I can say is thank you for this.

As a sidenote, I sometimes wonder if loving a writer is the same way...

[Aimee Mahathy]

Wow. This is just amazing.
I know what you're talking about. This is actually the reason my parents divorced. My dad is a drummer and it seemed, for a few years to my mom, that he was never home. He'd work and play and work and play. I had no problem with it, because I respected his musicianship, but being a musician's daughter and being a musician's wife are two different things. But I think this can happen with any passion, really. I am a poet. So when I am compelled to write, I turn off. My fiancee can't talk to me, he can't be noticed by me because I'm with my writing for that period of time. Not that I'd let him go just to keep writing, but you know.
Structurally, this was very refreshing to read. The repetition of "breathe" and the rhythm you created with the last few lines in each stanza was brilliant. It created a very musical effect, which played well with the subject. The last lines were perfect. The twist from "breathe" to create a full thought there... I couldn't imagine a better way to end this.

Thank you for sharing this! I'm glad I found and read this~
Please, keep writing. You have real talent!

[Shelby Baker]

oh! I do like! My favorite part was 'Just keep playing, playing...
playing you for a fool...'