If Chopin loved you
I wonder what his etudes would sound like.
I wonder if his anger would still
Manifest itself into chords in crescendo
And violent staccato syncopation.
I wonder if he'd have you sit by him,
Pose you like model
With your green eyes
Envious of his skill
And his feather fingered touch.
I bet you'd inspire nocturnes for him
So many that his floor
Bears the injuries of his perfectionism,
And his wastebasket
Overflows with drafts because he's frustrated.
He can't find the perfect notes to match the imperfect,
Shallow pitch of your voice.

If Chopin loved you,
You wouldn't listen to his music.
All you'd do is watch him scribble away
At his staff paper, filling up notebook after notebook
With no satisfaction.
His insatiable appetite to emulate your beauty
In this music will shatter him,
And your support would be your mockery—
You'd mock him for being an artist
Under the speculation of your gleaming eyes.
He will mistake their expression for bewilderment
Though all know and see and feel is greedy indulgence.
He'd keep creating for you
While you sit staring, fueling his passion
And his rage.

If Chopin loved you,
You wouldn't care for him
Or for his music.
In the end, all you'd care about
Is the applause in your name.
If he loved you
You would dare to kill him—
Make him choke on his own
Toxic admiration.
You wouldn't lift his limp body off of the piano
But you'd steal his music from the stand.