maybe

I stand in the maybe worlds
outside of absolute windows,
in the echoes of light,
in the shadows of sound,
almost understanding.
Almost inside.
And I shout to you my unhappiness,
my moans of pain,
that are disguised as ration and reason.
I stand in the outside worlds
in front of the warm windows
in the pasts of light,
in the futures of sound,
almost there.
Almost okay.
and I whisper to you my doubtings,
my misgivings,
that are disguised as the modest ramblings
of an interpersonal genius.
Maybe I am right.
Which would make everyone else wrong.
Maybe my eagle vision, sharpened and stabbing,
jabs at the faults around me. Hits hardest when i turn it on myself.
Lashes out, friendly in name only.
Or maybe I am a jealous storm,
a whirlwind of pain, maybe I am
a shipwreck, an abandoned house,
maybe I mourn at night, behind closed doors,
and maybe I disguise my tears as pearls of wisdom.
Maybe my sadness is a badge that I wear,
Maybe my strength is a fluke that I flaunt.
Has no one thought of that?

I cry out against the mysteries of the relationships around me,
denounce their heroic attempts, their pale-faced endurance,
dismiss their tears as unfounded
their love as misguided.
Maybe I am right.
What then?
Maybe if I had my way, we would all be right.
Sterile, cynical, and
all alone.
And right.

Maybe one of these days someone will muzzle me
and put you all out of your misery.