lack of talent.

[cry,crayola.]

These fingers prove worthless on a keyboard;
they remain listless to the ivory touch.
Yearning to pour out the human emotion,
remains a disappointing result of stumbled chaos
unable to guide expression from the tips that tingle,
the limbs that long to share their own story.
An unwritten talent that remains hidden.

Always.

I hate when my fingers tingle.

I'm not sure about that last line, as far as it's place in the poem goes. *shrug*

[Ramona]

Personally, I don't find it appealing.
For me there's just not enough emotion behind it, but there's nothing wrong with it in terms of how it was actually written.