we had monsters in our house.
they had come uninvited, of course, and they wouldn’t go away.
hush

we had monsters in our house. they had come uninvited, of course, and they wouldn’t go away so we stuffed them in my cupboard
we thought we had hid them well.
only they didn’t like it – at all.

we had monsters in our house and we stuffed them in my cupboard where they took all the space but didn’t like it there at all
we thought they wouldn’t – but we didn’t care
they cared, of course, because they didn’t like it at all

the monsters from my cupboard would beat gongs to protest – I don’t know how they got them there –
the monsters in my cupboard would never rest.
the monsters in my cupboard would not give up.
we would tell we couldn’t hear them but our eyes betrayed us every time.
one would point at the other when they saw several small circles of red veins on their irises
and black clouds underneath
but the fingers would also point back at ourselves so we never had to say
shush

Our Lips Were Sealed.

our lips were sealed except on days we screamed, altogether
we would scream and scream while the monsters from my cupboard would play a thunderous clap
they would shout in alien languages and beat gongs, and roll drums – I don’t know how they got them there but they would. none would tire.

our lips were sealed until the monsters from my cupboard Won and found a way Out
the monsters in my cupboard were no longer monsters inside my cupboard for they found a way out
when they found a way out they hid under my bed. they had better plans to take revenge.

every time the screaming happened, a similar series ensued:
we always got tired and slept cuddling each other, demanding warmth, pleading for safety in The Most Silent Language Ever
we never wanted the monsters to hear. you see, we were trying to manage everything despite suffering
every time the screaming happened and we went to sleep afterwards, craving warmth and safety, rubbing scars revealing fresh blood, one of us wouldn’t sleep.
one of us couldn’t sleep.
one of us couldn’t sleep because the monsters that were stuffed in my cupboard and were now hiding under my bed would find them.
they would face them boldly, ruthlessly, and make a living mess out of them.
they would threaten to shred their skin and scar their lips. pull their bulging eyes out.
(our eyes would be bulging because of our fear.)

every time the screaming happened, a similar series ensued:
we always got tired and went to sleep with one another, but the monsters wouldn’t sleep
they preyed on one of us.
they would eat some of their flesh, and gargle with their blood
and finally, they would pull them under their bed and put a hand over their mouths
As If They Could Scream

one by one, we fell prey to the monsters – at night
during our days we would live like each other.
and did we see our wounds and half fleshes? of course we did.
but we didn’t say for we couldn’t help it. none of us could
and we were losers who had lost while pretending all the way that we knew better
we became them.
and started biting ourselves.

these walls i'd built for so long, so tall
crumbled beneath me and the monsters within
broke loose with a vengeance untold even in lore
and i welcomed them with open arms, for they are my own
Me

and as they eat my heart whole, i knew one grows
one darker, yet stronger then the last
one that doesnt just break with each hurt
it accepts that hurt, and makes it stronger
making it nearly invincible, unbreakable
Me

on the outside i seem just as i was, broken
but i feel whole like i never have before
for i am the mosters that i tried to keep in
the ones i caged because i thought them too dangerous
but they were just the pieces i was scared to put back
i am now who i was always meant to be.
**Me

enkelte, ubetydelige blomster og
en transparente vase, der viser de
nøgne stilke stikke frem og stå
og det er kun tankens sidste grænse,
der stadig holder ved,
fast, stramt, næsten trygt
men selv her langer den ud efter mig
når jeg går på gaden med en liter
mælk, ryger cigaretter og så
låser mig ind i min opgang
smækker døren, og trækker vejret
for at holde mit galoperende hjerte igen
men selv her langer den ud efter mig
til min mosters fødselsdag i solen med
latter, fornøjelig nysgerrighed og øjne, der
kigger over bordet med bløde blikke og
varme nik
løber ud på badeværelset, og mister
grebet, så griber fast i et håndklæde,
men begriber ikke situationen, så jeg falder
det er først hér; rystende, alene og kold
mod marmor og duften af nymalede vægge
jeg ved, at jeg ikke kan flygte fra dele af
mig selv

For the past nine or so years,
he weaves a blanket. Night after night,
he incorporates thread after thread
of caresses and warm words. For the
blanket's purpose is to dispel all
forms of darkness, real and imagined,
to combat the mosters under the bed
and inside one's head, to imitate
a canopy of stars.

Night after night, he hands me the
unfinished blanket. It is soft and
warm. And though I still sleep with
the light on, the blanket is enough
to remind me that the ticking of the
clock is sometimes similar to the
beating of two hearts.

"I've been told that to fix the problem, you must first find its root... But you can't fix something that's not broken. I am not broken, just slightly damaged. My mind is like a thousand year old oak tree, and my facade as fragile as porcelain. My emotions act as a wrecking ball and when the night hits I'm nothing but a decaying mask. I fear pain, so I don't welcome love. I turn it away; a ruthless rejection, and send it back to where it came from. It haunts me, and in the night my own demons become insomnia. To fix the problem, I must first find its root." 
Or perhaps I mustn't focus on finding the root, I think the real issue might be that I am conscious that there are monsters in my head and my insomnia is result to the ongoing battle I have with myself and those monsters. Weather to love them or hate them, I do not know.  They save me and protect me, yet they seclude me from the rush of risk and beauty of bewilderment. When I lay in my bed my body feels great fatigue but my mind and my eyes are wide awake; ready to run circles around the world if they could. I no longer think that the solution would be to find a root or a specific turning point, but to end the battle of contradiction with the monsters that have taken over my thoughts and stolen my sleep. So do I love them because they protect me and have made me a smarter person? Or Do I hate them because they are the bricks that make up the walls I have built and they are the guards holding the riffles at the top of the walls shooting every single beautiful daring soul in their attempt to reach the real me? I will hate them. Yes the souls that have hurt me right after gaining my trust are the reason to my hurt and the nutrition to the growth of my monsters, but the very own monsters themselves are the ones responsible for my inability to recover from the inevitable hurt. They have Inprisoned me in this constant dark and uttermost thick desolation. It is because of how overpowered I am by them that I fail every single time in my attempt to breath. They are suffocating me and burying me in a state so dark I fear the incapacity to  get myself out. It is a journey of endless work, the wounds i have will eventually heal, but there will always be scars. It's like an addiction, even after being clean and sober the want of the drug will always be as great as it was the first time. So the fragility of my scars is so great it is completely capable to revert me back into the dark whole if i get hurt or scared again. i need to realize and accept that these things are inevitable and not close myself but open myself even more for the next person. The final solution will be to accept that the mosters?they are their, acknowledge them, deal with them, and never let them take over and do what they want with me. Then and only then will I be able to sleep.

Why did you want to hurt me again
Why do you want to twist that knife in
Your words cut worse than any knife
And I'm the reason for your strife

I swear I did the best I could
I thought I was proticting you like I should
I'm sorry I didn't know
But I'd ask you everytime you would go
But your answer was always no

But I know little kids can be frightened
And I'm sure that noose he tightened
And I don't blame you for hating me
For I am mom you see
I was supposed to protect you from the mosters
But I didn't know it would be my secound step father

I didn't know my mom would marry a another one like the first
This nightmare was the worst
I just wish you could see
I tried my very best to be
The mother you could always depend on
But now your gone

You hate me for what was done
But I want you to know if I'd had a gun
He could of never hurt anyone
And tho you hate me I'll love you always
I'm mom and I'm to blame anyways

I have a secret that I've never told,
My warm heart is silently cunning and cold,
I love making others happy,
But deep down inside,
A beast awaits to pounce out and ****

My anger is wild,
My once chained beast, is loose,
My inner demons are spread,
My theif free from the noose,

I have nowhere to hide,
Soon I won't exist,
I'll be a monster once more,
And cast off the shell,
That concealed my true form

My anger is wild,
My inner beast loose,
My demons,
My mosters,
My theif free from the noose

my poems
feed off of lost sleep
and slowing heartbeats

but when the mosters
hiding in the dark at night
won’t let me sleep

my poems
are what keeps me
from being overrun with fear