The Monster Under The Bed
I no longer check under the bed for monsters,
I don't run when I turn out the light,
Or hide under my blanket when I hear a noise,
I don't run up the stairs, scared to look behind,
I no longer cry for my mom to check the closet.
Not because I don't believe,
But because I have found worse monsters.
At first they arrived in fury,
Cabinets slamming.
Feet stomping.
Voices screaming.
But that was only the beginning.
You see,
I could run from those monsters.
I found comfort in small spaces,
spaces the monsters couldn't reach me.
That was until I started seeing monsters everywhere.
Not only in my home but in the streets,
in the grocery store,
in the halls,
even in the people around me.
No matter what I did it felt like the monsters were surrounding me,
Suffocating me,
Leaving me no air to breathe.
As I grew older I began to realize those monsters weren't real.
The real monster appeared in flashing lights,
Bright screens,
Pictures,
Mirrors,
It turns out,
The real monster
Was me.
The monsters I had seen as a kid?
Those had been me.
MY imagination.
The monsters I had always seen all around me?
That was also me,
refusing to see the bad in myself.
And lastly,
The monster in the mirror.
It was my own reflection.
Each time I wake I see the monster grow,
Slowly consuming more of me,
Taking over everything.
My interests.
My talents.
My personality.
The things that make me really me.
I no longer check under the bed for monsters,
I don't run when I turn out the light,
Or hide under the blanket when I hear a noise,
I don't run up the stairs, scared to look behind,
I no longer cry for my mom to check the closet.
Instead,
I close my eyes and think of the monsters in my head.
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