The Comfort Of The Six Strings Poem by Megan Piemonte

The mocking echoes
Throughout the halls
Throughout the walls
But I open my eyes and realize that the taunts were all in my head. My multicolored head that nobody understands.
Streaks of glitter paint my cheeks.
I reach out my hand, hoping for a split second that some compassionate being will fill in the spaces between my fingers.
The blade shines like silver. It promises to take all the voices away.
But so does my guitar.
With each strum, they pass by me like leaves in the wind.