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#maybes
I am tired of almosts and maybes, of conversations that circle but never arrive, of hands that hold mine like a question you’re afraid to answer. You say you don’t want labels like words are cages— but I am tired of wandering through something unnamed, giving real effort to something that refuses to be real back. I show up fully— with intention, with care, with consistency. And you show up halfway, just enough to keep me here, never enough to make it clear. I am tired of decoding silence, of calling confusion “depth,” of pretending your hesitation means something more than what it is. Because love shouldn’t feel like convincing someone to choose you. You say you’re not ready— but I am. And I am too exhausted to keep shrinking my clarity, my effort, my wanting— just to make space for your uncertainty.
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Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 10:47 PM UTC
Your Lack of Effort
~ *Hear me, and heed my woe, i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …               how thy smileth reaches                             thy eyen and                                     crinkles the c'rn'rs                                                   immensely. Thy confidence, a flame           yond burneth with f'rvent might,    intimidating, yet draweth me in,                             as moth to candle's lighteth. Thy passion is contagious,                  thy excitement a thrill,     i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …                                     but mem'ries ling'r still i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …           as thee gazeth into mine own eyen                                         bef're our lips meeteth     our intimate moments,                                  a sensual rapture,            thy corse, a w'rk of art,                            sculpt'd p'rfectly in all its                                                    muscular stature i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …              the way we w're,                      young with a future,                                          we couldst not seeth.       What ifs and maybes,                a maze, i tryeth to escapeth,                       longing f'r what couldst've been,            a heart yond acheth. Ev'ry fare thee well,                              a pang in mine own chest,          feareth of nev'r seeing thee again,                                       and all yond is repress'd Thy absence, a weight               yond i doth striveth to shaketh,      wond'ring wh're thou art,                                        what thou dost maketh.    Art thou joyous, art thou free from careth? i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …                      yet some days, 'tis hard to beareth. In sooth,     i am not depress'd,            n'r doth i feeleth the blues, wh'reupon i f'rce myself to not bethink on Thee …                             by mineth owneth shall, anon.* ~
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Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 9:29 AM UTC
Not Bethink on Thee
~ *Hear me, and heed my woe, i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …               how thy smileth reaches                             thy eyen and                                     crinkles the c'rn'rs                                                   immensely. Thy confidence, a flame           yond burneth with f'rvent might,    intimidating, yet draweth me in,                             as moth to candle's lighteth. Thy passion is contagious,                  thy excitement a thrill,     i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …                                     but mem'ries ling'r still i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …           as thee gazeth into mine own eyen                                         bef're our lips meeteth     our intimate moments,                                  a sensual rapture,            thy corse, a w'rk of art,                            sculpt'd p'rfectly in all its                                                    muscular stature i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …              the way we w're,                      young with a future,                                          we couldst not seeth.       What ifs and maybes,                a maze, i tryeth to escapeth,                       longing f'r what couldst've been,            a heart yond acheth. Ev'ry fare thee well,                              a pang in mine own chest,          feareth of nev'r seeing thee again,                                       and all yond is repress'd Thy absence, a weight               yond i doth striveth to shaketh,      wond'ring wh're thou art,                                        what thou dost maketh.    Art thou joyous, art thou free from careth? i tryeth to not bethink on Thee …                      yet some days, 'tis hard to beareth. In sooth,     i am not depress'd,            n'r doth i feeleth the blues, wh'reupon i f'rce myself to not bethink on Thee …                             by mineth owneth shall, anon.* ~
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Maybe I’m a wind-up toy robot, blindly walking down this path, maybe I’m a pullback toy car, moving forward by taking a few steps back. Maybe I’m a box of random Lego pieces, building up a life, without an instruction manual, maybe I’m just a firecracker, exploding with less passion – _so I sometimes add fuel._ Maybe I’m the one trapped in the castle; quietly hoping the world doesn’t see a man battling his own dragons, as a damsel, maybe I don’t know how to fight for myself, cos I was shown that fighting as a believer isn’t a good example. Maybe I’m looking for love, just because everyone seems to be   falling in love, maybe I’m trying to fit my hand in everything, to protect myself from failure – _wearing all the title gloves._ Maybe, maybe, maybe – but all the maybes aren’t always the possibilities we want. So maybe I should instead be more definite on all the needs I want.
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Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 12:37 PM UTC
The Maybe Poem
maybe good people do exist – maybe we fail to see the good in people maybe we fail to see the good in ourselves.
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Jan 13, 2025
Jan 13, 2025 at 3:27 AM UTC
maybe
Write a poem to get off my chest All my thoughts into a pile And boring soap opera lines Lighter for a little while I see familiar metaphors See the recycled rhymes See the same old stories Shared countless times I see piece of a greater puzzle Existence of chapters not written yet Entire ocean of future to chart Only gotten the tip of my pen wet I see the history shaping my universe Joy and sorrow imprinted See the creation made from my transformation Artwork I sloppily printed I see natural progression See soul spread out on display See what's hidden in the spaces between words I'm too scared to say I see truths of the galaxy I've learned Leave traces of my essence in each mark of ink See miracles Mights Madness Writing combines my spirit with things I think
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Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 8:38 AM UTC
Miracles, Maybes, And Madness
maybe you were in love with those conversation we shared by the balcony while staring at the sky or maybe you were in love with those sweet messages i sent you as soon as i wake up or maybe you were in love with those poems i wrote for you specially when you are feeling blue maybe you were in love of the idea of me being there maybe you were in love with those, but never with me.
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Jun 15, 2020
Jun 15, 2020 at 2:13 AM UTC
just maybe
temptation is sweet careful not to take too much it'll come out as sh*t
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Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 7:40 AM UTC
ants
Stripped down to the most basic of actions Can my lips carry my every feeling needs and wishes Would you get all of that with just a kiss If love was an ocean then my tides just come in and I'm just killing time thinking of ways to make you mine.... And maybe I, maybe I could never love you the same maybe it'd be a mistake to try again but there's more to this but there's more to this If love was the moon then it's just been eclipsed and I'm just wasting time thinking of ways to get you off my mind... Without anchors, I'm swimming till I'm dying well that doesn't make much sense unless you could feel the way I'm feeling And if love was a wrist I've just reached the bone and I'm just killing time thinking of ways to go on.... I'll be crawling into so many holes looking for a place to call home still nothing is the same as when I was in your space And if love was a heart yours is so far gone and I'm just wasting time thinking of ways, thinking of ways to be rid of mine
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Feb 23, 2020
Feb 23, 2020 at 7:12 PM UTC
If Love
maybe i'm not meant to be anything maybe i'm just here to inspire the something or maybe i'm as significant as a leave on the ground once vibrant and green now crushed beneath your feet
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Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
maybe
empty 'what if's and petty excuses and looming regrets 'if only i had tried harder' 'if only i had the time' 'maybe, just maybe' 'i could have gotten you' 'maybe i wouldn't have failed you' if only
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Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 3:13 AM UTC
Regrets and 'What If's
Maybe he was right Maybe we weren't meant to be in love Every star in the sky and page in all of the books in my collection could never explain us Maybe we should have fought harder for each other Fallen to our knees and surrendered when we really had nothing more to give Bruised and scarred from trying to hold on just a tad longer Maybe it was our doubts that cut the rope Perhaps it was all of our maybes that killed us in the end We didn't believe in the 2 a.m cups of coffee or even the blood in our veins We didn't have faith in what our future could hold, we didn't even have faith in ourselves I think he was right when he said we couldn't do it He was right to turn away and never come back He saved us from more pain and maybe that's a good thing Receiving peace in exchange for love By Chloe Elizabeth
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Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
All Of Our Maybes