Anthem | Teen Ink


February 4, 2013
By Lecksi_e SILVER, Fruitport, Michigan
Lecksi_e SILVER, Fruitport, Michigan
9 articles 23 photos 8 comments

Favorite Quote:
"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say."- Anais Nin


My hands play a melody that is soft, not weak, but simply unheard. The sullied keyboard whines its delicate cries as the stress begins to find its way into my brain. Angry notes start surrounding this quiet melody I’m playing, influencing it. It starts turning my gentle songs into raging harmonies.

This new song is now an anthem, growing stronger. The pedals ring and stretch it out, demanding attention. It has become a hateful chorus, made only of my fury. Face red, fingers sore and eyes blurred, I can’t stop this hate flowing from me.

But then I realize that my fingers are sore from clutching the wooden bench; my eyes are blurry from staring at my sheet music and my face is red from restraint.
They will never hear this song of mine. They will never be allowed to hear it. This hatred that grows inside me will never be released. I do imagine that one day; they’ll all see what it feels like. But still it all remains in my head.
So now I just continue my song of delicacy, letting others look at my happy face. My feet may touch the pedals once or twice, but it will be done so covertly. It will be the perfect little piano song of love and happiness, like all the others I play. It kills me to know that my emotions will never be heard because they are unimportant. What must I do to make them worthy? I know; I have to ignore them. Pretend they don’t exist. They were never manifested into a song that became my anthem.
That would be silly.

The author's comments:
I am frustrated.

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