A Clarinet Player's Mind

I am a clarinet player.

I wonder if I'll ever play the highest octave of the chromatic scale.

I hear the beautiful melody of the different sections of the marching band as it blends together to make a marvelous symphony.

I see the expectant stares of the people in the stadium as they watch our band march across the field.

I want to become the best clarinet player of my section.

I am a clarinet player.

I pretend to be a rant and rave in the stands as our band challenges the visitor's band on our home turf from across the stadium.

I feel my heart race as I march down the field, keeping the tempo, and playing various sheet music welded into my memory.

I touch keys ever so lightly yet ever so firmly as my fingers fly up and down my clarinet.

I worry I may trip over my crooked feet while I march across the field.

I cry when the soft sweet sounds of an orchestra reaches my ears ever so gently.

I am a clarinet player.

I understand that our band is not the best in the world, but I do not care.

I say, I love marching band!

I dream about playing before God and Jesus Christ when I get to heaven.

I try to sight-read as best I can.

I hope the crowd loves our band: The Green Machine.

I am a clarinet player.

Alright, just to clear a few things up, LexieLu000 (a.k.a. Alexis) and I are both in the same marching band and are best friends. We work together a lot and so I thought perhaps I should give writing an 'I Am' poem about my own instrument a try. I hope I was successful. I know Alexis was in her poem 'A Trumpet Player's Mind'. Genius, pure genius, Alexis.