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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required When I was growing up, I never had the opportunity to think that the monsters were inside my closet. You see, the monsters I had were between my parents. As they beat each other and screamed so loud no storm could compete. Broken tables and bleeding faces were so common I didn’t realize until later that it wasn’t the social norm. After they split, I soon was banned from seeing my father due to how his breath always smelled a little off, and he never seemed to be able to walk straight. And because he made me into a broken table, my body splintered on the living room floor, because his temper couldn’t be controlled when he had fuel. So I lived with my mother, who surrounded herself with strange men, I never caught their names, and we never really had a place to stay. Her bruises left her face, and went to her forearm, but I was too young to know what that meant. Until she was imprisoned for possession with intent to sell, then I knew. But it was too late, because then I bounced from house to house, paying the dues of my parents. My parents who made me believe that I should stay splintered and bruised. And soon I found that nobody wanted a broken thing. But now, after many years since then, when I am in the understanding that I deserve so much more than what my parents showed me, and I found something to fulfill that, when my heart came to be so much of me, that the splinters from the tables from my childhood have healed, I now have the opportunity to find that monsters in the closet are real. And the monster is you.
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