My Monster

My monster is a brilliant thing.  She’s all green eyes and glowing smiles.  She’s the one that
takes the lead, reaches out a hand to shake.  She’s the one looking you in the eye when you 
can’t look back. She says “Yes, you hurt me, and here I am standing strong and smiling.”

Maybe my monster isn’t a monster after all.

She makes marks on skin, on planet.  She cuts through the corners, the bull shit.  If she can 
look the world in the eye having hurt and hurt others, why can’t I?  I can face the consequences 
of my actions with dignity, can I not?

“Don’t stop,” she growls in my ear when I try to shortcut, pause from my writing.  She’s the one 
that forces it on and I can’t stop saying thanks for that. Some of my strengths I made myself, 
can’t give others all the credit for.

Though some did help a lot…

Especially my dad, who I miss every day.

I don’t know how to stop hurting the people I love.  But I think a lot of it could come from not 
knowing how to stop hurting myself.

I owe a lot to a lot of people.

I am so grateful to be here.  I don’t say that enough.

What a time to be alive.  The chaos is inside, too. Please understand, this wasn’t a thing from 
outside, this was something from within, a rift in what we thought of ourselves, our dissociation 
from our own guilt and sorrow.  Pain.

Boiling pain.  We don’t understand how barbaric a species could have come so far, learned so 
much. It’s a schism.

But we have to start believing again.  We have to be willing to make it great in ways it had never 
achieved before.  That seed of rebellion from within the minds of sociopaths.

But I can’t call anyone that, can I?

Me, I can be more than I let on. This is true.

My mind is a cavern dripping angst.  It’s not what you think. I’m not what you think…

I’m so much worse.