I just love the word maybe. And you are probably tired of reading maybes in my poems but nevertheless I will keep writing these maybes. Perhaps I am made of maybes.

Maybe I'm afraid of the sadness that follows along with happiness like a small kid hiding behind a mother or maybe I'm so in love with the sadness. Maybe I'm afraid of love and the hate that always follows so i never let someone love me the way I deserve or maybe I love breaking hearts. Maybe I'm afraid to trust because of the knife I always get stabbed from in the back or maybe I'm just no good of a human being; always thinking everyone who gets close to me have a knife hiding behind their backs—thirsty for my blood.

Maybe—mysterious and mystical. You never know what it's thinking. Maybe, maybe not. Who knows.



© k. k.