My Guitar

My first poem about my life and my guitar

This is my guitar,
To get it
I did not travel far,

Hours on hours my fingertips shread
Right to the core till they were red,
These metal strings make such a beautiful sound
I wish to play with only you around,
But in the end you do not care

The sound my guitar makes is beautiful now
How I healed so fast I know not how,
Calloused fingers I play for days,
Yet my heart is still soft as were my fingers
Likewise in time and pain,
It will beat strong again
And play beautifully.

Author's Note

Excuse if couplets are not used correctly I'm still kinda starting out :)