A trip down memory lane

You know what I love about my poetry? It causes problems. Lots of problems. And awkwardness. Lots of awkwardness. Let's look back at one of those poems that caused such complications...

I praise your name and beauty
The deaf ears that my words fall on can hear me clearly
If blind men can see that I love you, then why can't you?
Perhaps if I open my mouth you'll hear what I'm trying to say
Too bad this goddamned vice called cowardice keeps it closed.
The bolts are fastened shut, ironically I'm left screwed
Too bad it's in the metaphorical sense, huh?
But that's not what I want from you anyway.
You aren't some cheap slut, you have so much more to offer
I guess I'll just grin and bear it
I hope my vice allows me that small freedom
Maybe one day I'll find the key to unlock my cowardly chains
Here's to wishing. Hope is wasted on the desperate
But really, is this an act of desperation?
Anthony C, "Confessional"

And how I wish that didn't happen...Haha, hey, what's the point in life if you can't laugh at your mistakes, huh?