Jesus Christ I was made with a monster inside of me.
It’s an enemy.
An uninvited guest, closer than my shadow; a “scientist gone mad” concoction settling and putting roots into every inch of me.
It’s a home wrecking unkempt roommate who defaces your property, ***** your man, then shows up to fist fight at four in the morning.
It’s something that's created a bed in my chest and a toilet in my brain.
Lounged back in its moth-eaten recliner, flipping eagerly through all of my channels while sipping its drink; it is something that is always with me.
It shares what I touch and what I eat; speaking literally, it goes fifty-fifty on every diminutive measly thing.
Cheek by jowl in front of the mirror and dressed in the same outfit, my villainous lowdown twin sister, right there next to me.
It has earmarks of a mother who I am to take orders from or else I can't laugh with my friends or play Nintendo for six weeks, where she tells me to change my clothes three times before breakfast, where I am unable to act appropriately.
Awaken daily by that specific detrimental type of early morning sickness, where the cold-hearted ***** is always with me.
Able to hold a candle to a man that makes you cry and gazes at your best friends, where he makes you feel dejected and ever short.
Where he purloins your spirit and hawks on the fire in your belly; forcing you to allow him to make you feel that way and it's that specific muddy stain on a white T-shirt.
Wash after wash, he is always ******* with me.
It’s the fog that glazes over the roads and hides the trees at four o’clock in the morning during your drive through Pennsylvania.
Whenever the birds sleep until the woods are illuminated by sunlight.
It’s the reason for the high beams that are always on and always bright.
And they are always with me.