Maybe there's just too little of me anymore
after all of the many you's throughout the years.
Or maybe it's because there's too much of me -
more than one man alone should have to handle.
And maybe I'm afraid to let one even try
because of the pieces he might drop and break.

Maybe I'm too proud, too stubborn, and too wary
and it shows and drives other people out.
Or maybe I've read and seen too many fairytale love stories
and nothing in real life will measure up.
And maybe I get too easily distracted
when things aren't as perfect as the story in my head.

Maybe it's that I can't seem to let down my walls
and trust someone not to hurt me once they're down.
Or maybe I'm just scared to love at all,
afraid to have my heart ripped out again.
And maybe I'm just waiting for the one that feels right,
the one where walls and doubts are swept away.

Maybe I start looking for things to go wrong
as soon as one steps past my comfort zone.
Or maybe it just comes down to me making excuses
and never giving a guy a decent chance.
And maybe I'm not ready, still trying to find myself
and there's no room among this mess for someone else.

Maybe I'm just too young to be tied down so soon
and need time and space to live life on my own.
Or maybe it's not meant to be until a later time
and the plan for me will unravel farther on.
And maybe I'm too much the artist and love the perfect dream
and the real world just doesn't want to comply.

Maybe I have bad days or bad weeks or bad months
and take it out on the one who's not at fault.
Or maybe I get boring - more likely I get bored,
and need a change of name and scene and face.
And maybe sometimes I am just
too tired to give a damn.

Maybe I'm just attracted to too many different guys
and mistakenly think that lust can equal love.
Or maybe the conversation is intellectual and warm,
but the time in bed just really turns me cold.
And maybe I think too much and look too deeply,
picking apart things better left alone.

Maybe I shouldn't be surprised when passion fades to plain,
but passion is what keeps my blood alive.
Or maybe I fall for promises in lips and eyes and hands,
never spoken, only imaginings in the end.
And maybe I'm victim, but it's only of myself -
I'm pissed off and jaded and need somewhere to throw the blame.

Maybe I move too quickly
and end up scaring myself away.
Or maybe I come across as easy
and guys don't want or expect anything more.
And maybe I need to chill out
and not worry about it so much.

Maybe they expect too much
and the pressure makes me run.
Or maybe I demand too much of them,
in support and time and patience.
And maybe I don't understand them
just as they don't understand me.

Maybe it's that I like things my way
and resent being forced to compromise.
Or maybe I'm too opinionated,
unwilling to admit that I may be wrong.
And maybe I care too much what other people think
and let go of something good for the sake of harmony.

Maybe I'm just too damned scared
of risks that end up hurting me.
Or maybe I'm just finally admitting
that my biggest fear is never knowing love.
And maybe I am a combination of my parents,
having learned to keep it bottled up inside.

Maybe I walked under too many ladders
and have a lifetime of bad luck.
Or maybe karma does exist
and what went around has come back.
And maybe I'm confused, I can't think or feel clearly
and I never will and that's just part of life.

Maybe he's a conservative, and I'm certainly a liberal,
and our discussions turn to arguments every time.
Or maybe he's too feminine, or I'm too masculine,
and now the gender roles that never applied don't fit.
And maybe I like quiet, time to think, and books to read,
and his parties and clubs only headache affairs for me.

Maybe I'm too long-winded, or long-penned in most cases,
and his attention span can't seem to last that long.
Or maybe he likes to pick me up, refusing to put me down,
but I hate being held helpless by another's strength.
And maybe his jokes aren't funny, and then neither are mine,
but sometimes it's more annoying than endearing.

Maybe I could pay more attention to things that matter
remembering, and not hurting him inadvertently.
Or maybe our interests never really align
and I can't take time off to like new ones.
And maybe it's because he tries too hard to amuse me
and ends up just embarrassing me instead.

Maybe I'm too complex and he wants something simple
and I am a puzzle way out of his league.
Or maybe I'm too screwed up
for anyone to understand, even myself.
And maybe I just need
to let it go.

07/22/2003

Author's Note: Yes, I know it's incredibly long, and this is just a first draft so it's not all that organized yet. Shall be thinking about this much.

Posted on 07/30/2003
Copyright © 2024 Amanda J Cobb