Sitting at his desk he tapped and he tapped,
His fingers mimicked the beat as they rapped, they rapped.
Slapping his books, In the back of the room,
As his feet hit the floor, kaboom… kaboom.
I am music, claimed the boy with headphones on,
That's not true, replied the teacher, insisting he was wrong.
For music is the guitars, the beats, the singing.
It's the drums, the jazz, the bells timely ringing.
Now take off your headphones and give a good ear,
Music is more than just the little ticks you hear.
Sure one can make music by tapping their thumbs,
clapping their hands, or even slapping the drums.
Not your rapping and flapping and all that clatter,
It's a song, a composed jingle for that matter.
No one can be music, that is a rather big lie,
So quit daydreaming and get your head out of the sky.
With silly dreams like that you will never succeed,
Focus on real goals, ones you can achieve.
The boy with the headphones sat and he thought,
When he spoke it went against all he had been taught.
Ma'am I hear what you're saying but I don't understand,
"In order to be music I need to be in a band…?"
No, that cant be right, in fact you are terribly wrong,
For I am music, and he put his headphones back on.
Think of the symphony and each instrument part,
My brain is the director and commands each start.
First go my feet, with the thunderous bass,
Thump thud thud thud keeping the pace.
Now bring in the tongue clicking my teeth,
It's the shakers to my song, rattling the beat.
Then comes the fingers crackling as the snare,
Pattering against my desk leaving an echo in the air.
Soon my head falls into a nod , perfectly in sync,
And the words come to my mouth, without having to think.
You see Ms. Teacher, I am Music, in fact we all are,
As all the other students tuned their vocals and air guitars.
Whether its in a microphone on stage or at home alone,
I am music, said the boy with the headphones on.
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