Maybe

May, I’m not made to use my head
But only my heart to say I’m not
What I am expected to be.
Maybe I’m not good at all.
Maybe I’ve just made my point.
In fact, I only speak, as you can see,
In baby sentences.
It’s only one sentence
And I feel creepy.
Where’s the word?
Oh, am I too crumpled?
Could be. The head
Doesn’t gather the fevers,
The hand now a fumbler.
I must stop,
Am too muddled,
And just trying hard.