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Is love real? Maybe. I like to ask myself this sometimes When I want to feel contemplative Although I come to the same conclusive five letter word every time. The dreaming side of me is angry for asking such a thing, when the answer is yes The fatalist in me scoffs for such a meaningless question, not even needing to say no This. Is why I fear answering my friends when they ask “Do you like him?” “Maybe.” Is what I think Maybe invokes such a deep self-hatred inside of me. Is “Maybe” what my mother felt about my father When she cheated on him? I am Terrified Of the word. “Maybe” But Maybe it could be more. I could love you the way I love pretty boys who are out of my league But I know this isn’t true For how good you are. And how sure you are about me. You deserve something better, than “Maybe.” -A.E.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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Date: 2/1/2019 10:44:00 PM
Audrey, welcome to Poetry Soup. A powerfully wise poem. Especially enjoyed this part. It is heart-felt. "s “Maybe” what my mother felt about my father When she cheated on him?" Nicely done.
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