Museum

                I am so tired of being me.

               No one can do it better but

                I want to be an oil painting,

                In some stuffy library hall

                and then I'll be enough,

                And say I lived well.

                And children will ignore me,

               While grown -ups will pretend they know me,

                And somewhere on top a cloud

                I’ll be making music

                forgetting who I used to be,

                   Or why I tried so hard.