Monster

I wake up every morning to
the darkness in and over me

from the thickest fog of dreaming
to an abstract art of peacefulness.

And in a way I realize,
that this place is not my home

that somewhere in the distance
I am living out the storm.

There are needles in my breath,
a burning fire in my gaze

I can't stand the thought of happiness,
like monsters in my closet.

The hurt is overwhelming
every time and time again.

Stepping on my hand when
I'm just longing for a friend.

You say I am a beast
standing numb out in the cold,

that I'm a rutheless heartless beauty,
unconcerned with what I'm told.

I try and try to be
what my mother wants of me,

This clay is not enough for me
your mold is just too plain,

'cause I'm sick and tired of killing
myself
to fit your stereotypical frame.