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i am the seventh grade fingers of a silver shine trumpet

you are the snare drum without a beat

he is the broken string of a taped together bass guitar

she is the screeching fiddle tuned with a deaf ear

and the girl in the corner with pink rubber bands on her braces is the note of c that is supposed to chime d

we are the pimply face band of seventh grade wonders

rag tag with feet two shoe sizes too big for our bodies

and hearts four times bigger than that.

we have no clue how to play together

but if we ever figure it out-

damn.

it will be the loveliest shade of yellow

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