The Guitar I Got In Sevilla That Reminds Me Of Myself

I have moved
A tiny guitar
That I bought in Sevilla
Close to a dozen times

Each time I’ve moved it
I placed it on a stand
Made to fit the guitar
Perfectly

And each time
I placed that guitar
Upon its perfect stand
It would fall over

Eventually I tried so hard
To adjust the stand
That I broke it
In half

The guitar still sits
On my bookshelf
In my office
Where I can see it

And it still falls
From time to time
When the door slams
Or the fan is set too high

But overall
It stays upright
Showcasing its “Sevilla” script
And filling otherwise empty space

I feel like this guitar sometimes
Brought up on a stand
That didn’t quite fit
And always falling over
When I got rid
Of my imperfect stand
I stopped falling as much
But still make mistakes

I hope I’m as beautiful
And not filling empty space