This poem is about the (necessary?) narcissism of self-help authors
Cringey arrogance:
Our curse,
us self-help writers.
We get a special kind of hell.
It is a boisterous pit,
like the tower of Babel,
but obviously inverted.
It’s below-ground,
this metaphor ☝🙄
In self-help hell
no one listens to each other.
No one can even speak, really
over all the tongues
flipping and fluttering.
But I believe in cures and redemption.
I Iove human change.
Plus I’m arrogant too.
Behold Juan’s two cents 🌟🤏
check out my poultice of words.
River meet rudder:
You are not much
pero también eres alguito.
