drummer
In my eyes
he was the coolest
That drummer
I’d been eyeing for years now
I wanted to know how he holds a girl’s hand
Is it as tight as he holds
the drumsticks when he plays?
He was a thinker
and a doer
A drummer with the looks
and the character
A face that would be etched in my mind forever
And his name is Michael
YOU ARE READING
Poems of Confession
PoetryWords I opted not to confide Scattered pieces of me, hidden inside He who held them, now nowhere to find Gone, leaving me behind
