from a young age I feared the monsters who
lurked in the shadows of closed doors and childhoods clothes,
the boogie king who sipped on the oak chips of my bed
and the witches broom that was left for play in the children's room.
at some point in my early days
I recovered from such childish games
searching to disprove the monsters and fight their terrors
they belonged in books, movies and those old dream catchers.
why my mother never thought me that monsters are so very real
I will never know -
except monsters do not live in closets,
or in bed lines, or skulk around like childhood imaginings entail.
monsters always present themselves as something beautiful,
the shining angel of innocents beauty
waiting to swallow that innocence whole.
instead of claws they have wings
and while you think they encourage your dreams
they will claw at your very core without you even seeing.