you are an instrument, she said,
self-tuning,
and self-correcting,
and self-regulating.

isn’t it neat how you get to
play differently
every day?

yes, some of this is painful,
but there’s a lot of joy, too.

there’s enough room in this
world for you, my dear.

you are allowed to exist.

don’t let anyone tell you
that you’re not an instrument,
that you are not beautifully
made of all the
sounds and all the colors,

and what you do here,

it matters.
it matters.