My Fucking Trumpet

Nobody hears the music but me.

 

 

I bought this Trumpet you see.

Into the store I went so sure of my intent to give precedent,

to consume my path, my life and death, with four long years of rigorous breath.

 

Nobody hears the music but me.

 

At first I had this thirst, to hear

The burst of notes in my ear.

To see its shiny blinding pipes, ripe golden,

Resonate the air to draw me near.

To crave those notes that oh so sufficed and enticed,

To feel the smooth vibrating metal,

Who’s expensive hollow vessel made clear,

That this Trumpet was to endear.

 

But nobody hears the music but me.

 

And then I pressed my lips against its mouthpiece,

and gave it the best French kiss, in perfect bliss.

I blew its ass so hard that out came the brassy sound

That soothed and caressed so profound.

I grabbed it by its valve handles and fondled it with my fingers,

Every piston stroking and twisting the wind as I listened,

 

Nobody hears the music but me.

 

Then one day, It all wen to shit you see.

 

It lost its golden shine, this thing of mine

Could no longer chime, it was in decline.

Its delicious notes could no longer coat

The boat of lies it wrote.

I asked for a B and it played a C,

I begged for a D and it roared a maddening E.

It whined and screeched every lie that it preached,

 

And still nobody hears the music but me.

 

Then it dared to be picky,

About whose lips get to be so lucky to touch its mouthpiece,

It shut me out, never to kiss it again,

this Mexican who could never be an American.

It went bad, this fucking racist Trumpet robbed

the ears of any who wore a Hijab.

What a fallacy,

These are the people that make your sound an actuality.

 

Yet still nobody hears the music but me.

 

A fucking Trumpet

The stupidest and childish of instruments,

I was embarrassed and depressed.

Confused by the songs it professed,

I pressed the water key and out came a black tar of sea.

I blew it again, one last dare but instead it took my health flare.

I was fooled by this abomination, this devastation,

that helped my suffocation,

A confirmation, that this was a cheap imitation.

 

And yet still, nobody hears the music but me.

 

This feels strange, a world of change, am I deranged?

Is everybody deaf to its treble clef,

Spewing out this melody

That seems to make the world a parody.

 

Can you hear it now?

Nobody hears the music but me

But yet again,

Half the country is me.