Tell all the monsters under my bed
that they needn't tuck me in at night
anymore.
I made a promise to grow.
I'll grow the way mama did
back when her hair was brown not silver.
Tell my monsters I grew out
of  chewing my nails,
picking at my skin,
***** fueled nightmares,
and a tobacco stained tears.
Tell them that I am growing out
of the fear footsteps in the dark
light up in my rabbit shaped heart,
that I'm growing out of the bark
my voice turns to
when I speak to my father.
Tell them I've grown out of
silly weeping over silly boys.
Tell them where there were cracks
now pretty clovers grow.
Tell them that I've found friends
who hold my hands
when I tremble with anxiety.
And tell them that
I hold these same friends
when their monsters threaten
to come from under their beds.

Tell them. Tell them how much
their little girl has grown.