And so I know,
there lives a little monster
underneath my bed.
(I do think she has made herself
quite comfortable in her place.)
A queer kind of creature,
I fancy I don't know her,
(she's rather erratic I'd say).
Loud when she wants to be,
often disappears for days.
And then one day, she'd show her face,
ostensibly just to say,
"Don't you forget about me, dear,
I still live under your bed."
She gives me company in my solitude,
(though I do wish she'd leave).
We argue quite a lot,
and often knows to win over me.
And to cease our interaction,
I wished to see what she sees.
Oh, but what a surprise,
the monster under my bed looks a lot like me!
YOU ARE READING
Before It Turns Grey
PoetryAnd through all of this, I've just been trying to know who I really am. To come to terms with heartbreak. To bleed, and to cry, and to learn, and to grow. Before It Turns Grey is a journey, more than it is a poetry collection. It is a voyage of gro...
