toria vd Poet Narrative

a monster

At five, coarse strands gather in your small fists 
as you tear them clean from your scalp.

You hate yourself
You are ugly
You are selfish
You are a monster.

At seven, sitting under the fluorescent lights of the classroom,
you drive the dull graphite point of a pencil straight into your thigh, 
puncturing the skin through your clothes 
over and over.

You are weird
You are different
You are never enough
You are a monster.

At ten, pressed against the cold glass on the car rides home, 
you dig your fingernails into your arms, 
dragging them down until thin red lines bloom 
and leak onto the surface of your skin.

You are stupid
You are worthless
You are a failure
You are a monster.

At twelve, sitting alone in the quiet of your room,
your hand shakes as you press a blue ballpoint pen 
to the lined paper
to write your very first suicide note.

You are unwanted
You are a mistake
You don’t deserve to live
You are a monster.

At fourteen, under the cover of midnight, 
the heavy metal head of a hammer strikes your soft, weak body, 
leaving dull, aching purple bruises across your skin.

You are unlovable
You are too much
You are a burden
You are a monster.

At sixteen, you keep silver razor blades sleeping 
in the dark of your nightstand drawer,
buried beneath your socks, 
so no light can reach them. 

You are bad
You don’t deserve love
You are broken
You are a monster.

At seventeen, you rely on pain to keep you alive.
You cannot remember a time when breathing didn't hurt.

And in the dark, you ask yourself -
who would you be today if someone 
had just wrapped their arms around that small, 
trembling five-year-old,
and pulled her hands away from her hair?

Who would you be
if you were allowed to be a child
instead of a monster?

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Alison A Smith August 21, 2026 at 11:12 PM A devastatingly honest poem that traces the cruel inner voice imposed on a child across the years. Its final questions are especially heartbreaking, turning the piece toward the fundamental truth that this frightened child deserved protection, tenderness, and the freedom simply to be a child.❤️