Maybe it's Covid. Maybe it's not. Maybe it's just my apartment making me hot.
Maybe it's my tiredness or stress I'm going through. Maybe it's unsureness of what to do. Maybe it's sadness on one level or another, maybe it's that world I share only with just one brother.
Maybe it's the quiet, or the being alone, maybe it's my connection to my Iphone.
Maybe it's that major life change that I made. Maybe it's the winning and losing inside every trade.
Maybe it’s hunger, or what some say is really thirst. Maybe it’s the cliche’ of my bubble being burst.
Maybe it’s a cold. Maybe it’s a fever. Maybe it’s tension around being a believer.
Maybe it’s the rapping. Maybe it’s the rhyme. Maybe it’s about my facade, a fake shrine.
Maybe it’s these poems getting in my way. Maybe it’s because I see nothing that’s not gray.
Maybe it’s because I have to stop writing now. Maybe I need to tweak my Tao.