“Maybe, Baby”
It’s the maybes.
The “may this be”.
The “may this have been”.
The “maybe it will be”.
The Mays that have been.
The Mays to come.
The maze amazes me.
Maybe I can be.
Maybe you may be.
Maybe I am a maid,
may be.
Maid of honor,
house maid,
hand-made.
May that be
what it has made me.
Maim me, mate.
Be made and custom-make me.
Maybe.
Lately it may be
that “maybe” is getting to me.
May be maiming me,
eating and unmaking me.
May that be as it may be.
I am used to man-made mazes and hazes.
Bees and fees may be
making their way to me,
I will make do.
Wanna-bes and Seem-to-bes
ask to be my Made-for-mes.
May they be for the girls made to be
the shadow of a wanna-be.
The maybes.
It’s the maybes lately.
Left in me is a May to be.
The rest has been consumed by maybe.
Certainty may just be a malady.
