By Jakub KujawaWhat Ifs & Maybe

 

Paths are charted alongside maybes,
As each what if pulls me farther
Away from what I’ve been sure of.

Trying some days to fly,
In a flock of thoughts arranged
At aerodynamic angles.

Occasionally being sucked in,
Dragged down narrow tunnels,
No bends to change direction.

Flung against barbed fences,
Hitched at pain filled parts,
Littered with bloody wounds.

Endeavoring at other times
To clean my rose colored glasses,
And see the bigger picture.

Those days things appear
Perfect as they ought to,
But always temporarily.

Then another maybe floats in
Like a thick fog and cold air,
Dampening my possibilities.

Wandering through a maze
Of those high walls of what ifs,
Hypercautious at every turn.

Throwing hard bone dice
Hoping for seven or eleven,
Should the odds favor me.

Other days things fall in place,
Rewarding concentrated efforts
Beyond what seemed probable.

Much of what I’ve been certain
Is how the experiences vary,
And holds pockets of maybes.

Anytime I’m not mindful,
And attentive to my decisions,
Those what ifs attack me.

Wedging me tight in between
The jagged edges of its crevasse,
Pinning me down in there.

It takes more mental juggling,
And some rigorous wiggling,
To free myself from this state.

Ria 2016

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