Maybe I Am
Maybe,
That I’m possibly those things you spew at me in the form of words
That I’m bitter and incomprehensible, no sense of what I’m accountable.
That I just can’t wrap around my head this heart that beats is already dead.
Maybe I’m just the first fool you met that really is not alive.
Maybe,
That my opinion on life isn’t as positive as your very own.
That I’m cold and fake, no sense of what is at stake.
That I seem to have a lack of emotion to care about others.
Maybe I’m just self centered enough to see the truth in my situation.
Maybe,
That my hope to strive on is no longer necessary or revived.
That I’m an absolute fool and immature, no common courtesy to endure.
That I seem to complain out that which I seem to refuse to have.
Maybe I’m a paradox in disguise, a shadow in some form of night light.
Maybe I am just a bad person after all?
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