Tell me again that you know how I feel. 

You sit, 
Safe behind your desk and your dictionary 
And the letters listed after your last name. 
Educated to know, 
                  Paid to know, 
                                Unenthused and unamused. 

Tell me again that you know what is right. 

I stand, and
I sing, and
The lights make me sweat pure magic, 
And nothing can tear me from the engulfment 
Of being alive. 
I have chosen, 
                 I have chosen. 

Tell me again that I have no future. 

I take my treble clef and my staves, 
The slurs and accents and long, long fermatas, 
And I beat your "No" into 
Something unrecognizable. 
Questioning "No," 
                      Refusing "No," 
                                    Unabashed and undiluted. 

You call me a fool, punk, insolent girl, 
One of those artist types. 
Sit back down. 
Preach priority and sacrifice 
And then shop for red-soled pumps. 
You have chosen, 
                       I have chosen, 

                                           I choose 
                                                           to live. 

                                                                                          Tell me again how miserable I will be.