maybe...who fucking knows.

maybe you like it
maybe you don't
maybe you will
maybe you won't

maybe it's me
maybe it's you
maybe it's false
maybe it's true

maybe we live
maybe we die
maybe we tell the truth
maybe we lie

maybe we fuck
maybe we hug
maybe we sweep it all...
under the rug

cuz maybe...
it's all just a little too much
of everything and nothing
"this n that, such n such"...

useless shit, heaven (don't) help us,
all around...
instead of focusing on each other
endless feeds, information, we drown

as more and more, days, years, fly by
keep shoveling shit down
overloaded, exhausted
depleted of depth,
we no longer even try...

to pretend it matters
the pretend, all around..
maybe it doesn't
that in the shallow we drown..

just don't invite me
to a god damn "cuddle party"
there is nothing in that "touchy feely"
garbage, even worth a "maybe"
thought starting..

I'd rather take a punch, in my ass
cuz that's real..
cuddle with a stranger?
no thanks, fake affection
is worse than real aggression,
animalistic, the feel...

for maybe that has it's place
more than we realize
in a safe, constructive way
release the pent up rage
in our thighs..

release the stress, release the strain
maybe not pretending this place
"so great", eases shame

of having to "maybe" so much,
maybe now
we can get back to basics,
communicate clearly, to each other,
maybe, "wow!"..

how's that for a thought
some things, real treasures
cannot be bought

real friends, real lovers
real magic, real others..

maybe they wouldn't be so rare,
if aware
that the "here with you now"
isn't always going to be

it's a fucking gift
so maybe...

start there.


bowen hart roselli
4 september 2020
ringwald love