I woke up to my neighbors belting out an off-key tune. I tried to cover my aching ears with my pillow, but their discordant voices echoed in my head, so I finally got out of bed.

I stared at the unfinished painting I had worked on the night before. In just a few seconds, my stomach dropped. Even in its incomplete state, there was a sense of impending doom looming outside my door—hideous, and that was my first thought this morning.

Shadows ran through the waves of my curls—spiraling endlessly—as my fingers gently brushed away the exhaustion from last night. For the second time, I turned to look at the unfinished painting restlessly sitting at the end of my bed. If it had eyes, it would definitely not meet my somber, dark brown gaze. It would fear me, for I would cut it into pieces. I would let it bleed until it was no longer breathing.

It would forever be cherished as a beast—unfinished, freshly cut like a lemon. When poured into a deep wound, its acidity would seize the skin, leaving nothing but unfortunate agony.

I drank two liters of fresh lemonade, but nothing happened. It didn’t cut me into pieces. I was still unfinished.

And so I avoided its beastly eyes. Even an unfinished canvas resented my sorrowful presence. I sliced another lemon and added a teaspoon of sugar, hoping today would be different.

A small crack in a bathroom tile
You aren’t perfect
But you make me smile

A gifted mind
With a weight to bear
I hate when people
stare
But hopefully my presence makes it
A little easier

I can hold some of your bags

I’ll like you no matter what
Riches or rags
No matter the heartache

This feels like a worthwhile endeavor

Your scars are not burdens,

They are lessons you have learned.

Despite your wishes to give up
Your feelings you wish to sever

Sometimes happiness has to be earned.

Take my hand and with it
The wheel is turned

Fortune cannot be controlled
But within our busy days a constant remains

Monster and Lemon boy
Their future untold.

Let the story
Unfold.