Tea Kote

The Sound of Pride 

By Téa Kote

I used to play with fire inside, 

each note I hit was filled with pride. 

It wasn’t about the sound— it was 

the way I stood my ground. 

The hours spent, the aching hands, 

the pressure only I could stand. 

In every stage, in every show, 

my pride would rise, my soul would glow.

I wore it like a second skin, 

a battle I refused to win. 

Not just for trophies lined in gold, 

But for the stories I was told. 

They said, “Be proud, stay strong, don’t quit.” 

So I gave music all of it. 

But now the songs don’t feel the same— 

the keys are quiet, so is the flame. 

My pride has shrunk, it doesn’t shout. 

It whispers now, it flickers out. 

Where onced it roared in every part, 

it’s just a shadow in my heart. 

But maybe pride is meant to bend 

to fade, to fall, and rise again.

It’s not just built on what I play, 

But who I am when I walk away. 

Though I’ve stepped back from sound, 

I know that pride is still around. 

Not in applause, or final scores 

but in the silence I explore. 

Author’s Note: What inspired me to create this piece is my relationship with piano. Piano has had a big impact on who I am today, and I know that I am not pursuing it anymore. There is a big hole that I want to fill with new activities and passions.