I threw caution to the wind
but it kept coming back,
Wagging its pointy index finger at me,
it reminded me what I lacked
I don't have the style, the looks,
the name, and the class,
I don't even know if Pasión Azteca
should be enjoyed from a glass
But if you intend to make a mistake
please be kind and start with your heart,
Play along with the script, promise me,
And I will happily play my part
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a Tired Poet
PoetryWhat kind of poem would you write if you stopped caring about everybody else? Confessions of a Tired Poet is a collection of short poems that gives you a backstage pass to the life of a poet who's sick and tired of his life. This is the front seat t...
