Insecurity

Instead of monsters under my bed - they stare at my face in the mirror At what point does a child become the direct descendant of a wound breed from insecurity. A world that preaches love is this almighty being that comes to everybody. The same world that writes the script for a judging mind yet screams to erase. But what if I’m different? Easy to like, but only under certain conditions. But what if it’s me? Easy to want, but hard to hold. For who decides these monsters for me? Why does it feel as if I’m choosing the monsters that crawl under my bed? I don’t want them! But I suppose you can never tell where the monsters will hide.