This was written on a whim, so I will probably delete it and do a better version later. I was just in a very emotional state. Sorry it isn't my best.
My parents always told me
that monsters were imaginary,
they checked inside my closets,
then laughed and called me silly.
They looked behind my curtains,
and checked under my bed,
but they forgot to mention
the monster's in my head.
And just because I cant see them
doesn't mean that they aren't real
because I can hear them when I try to sleep,
they are the only things I feel.
They seep into my skin,
I can feel them in my brain,
where do I go, what do I do,
theyre driving me insane.
So I go back to when I was little,
when monsters were imaginary,
when my parents would hold me,
and nothing seemed as scary.
But they were looking in the wrong places,
for something they couldn't see,
and all along, they couldn't tell
the real monster was me.
YOU ARE READING
Heartstrings and Other Things
PoetrySnapping like the strings of violins, red dripping on my fingertips. The angels cry for the bleeding hearts, the sirens sing their songs of sorrow, both sobbing in their worlds, apart, what is whole today is gone tomorrow.
