There's a monster
we all have inside of us.
He doesn't have a name or a face,
not a single image he uses
with his many hosts.
He instead shifts his body
to fool everyone into thinking
that he is a friend
instead of a deadly parasite.
Sometimes his name is anger.
Anger is tall. Broad.
He is handsome in a way
that makes women faint
and men envious.
Anger is loud. Rash.
He says things he may
or may not mean,
but he'll never say he's sorry.
Anger sits deep inside your chest
crushing your lungs
and suffocating you
Sometimes his name is anxiety.
Anxiety is small. Worrisome.
This would not be a problem
if you knew how strong
he could really be.
Anxiety is quiet. Concerned.
Anxiety lives inside your head,
pulling the strings of your emotions,
keeping his eyes on everything you do.
He is waiting for the perfect moment
to have everything
crash around you
Other times, his name is depression.
Depression takes many forms
He can be so tiny, so minuscule
that you would do anything for him
because you cannot see
what he is capable of.
He can be as tall
as a ten-story building.
You do as he says because
you fear that he will crush you
in his palms.
You have yet to realize
he is already doing that.
Depression is a weight
inside your stomach.
You cannot get out of bed
on days he is the giant,
and everyone thinks he is gone
on days he is as small as a pebble.
His name can be PTSD
It can be anorexia nervosa or bulimia.
Maybe for you, he’s paranoia or OCD.
Perhaps his name is Schizophrenia.
Social anxiety or DID,
Insomnia or ADHD,
Body dysphoria or Bipolar disorder
His name does not matter
He is within every single one of us.
And the only way to make him stop
is to acknowledge he is there.
So anxiety, depression, and anorexia nervosa,
I know you’re there.
And I’m taking my life back.
It feels so good to finally write about this
We stole the night together
Held together by a tether
Telling stories as we went
With a list of movies we had to rent
We played with each other's hair
A quite inseparable pair
We shared all our troubles
Promising we'd be doubles
And we'd bolster each other's souls
Until our hearts burned down to coals
Then we drifted and we struggled
Battling demons that left us puzzled
Until we realized
They're easier to fight together
-hopefully your best friend
This is for my favorite person in the world
she was petrified
and she still faced her demons
like she breathed air--
not with ease,
not with tranquility,
not because she wanted to--
because she had to
When you reach for the cold wooden board
your hands begin to decay
your skin peels back then hardens and falls off your scarlet bones.
A bright midnight flash struggles to push through to the other side of your mind
revealing that you passed years ago but are stuck in an actuality that doesn’t belong to you.
Life is all just a disorder, dead but you keep on living
a distorted mind trapped in an unborn child's head.
Or it could be a game from the further future that they play
controlling little beings within a screen.
The words engraved on the board now lay in your flesh and you cannot let go
from the reality within reality
but is the concept that hard to grasp?
You believe in God but not your own insanity?
We are the dead ones that are only able to perceive
they are makers of our madness
the creators of an urban fantasy
and they try to speak to us from millions of years in the future through a sharp birch wood board
but the lies we are told and the truths that this “world” withholds
does not compare to the unknown universe outside of this screen.
his hands twitch and he starts to blink and attempts
to calm down, because it's okay, people
get nervous and this is what happens when people
get nervous but his hands won't stop twitching and it's
the one imperfect thing in this entire room, the walls
are white the people are silent the floor is
polished the chairs don't squeak and why the hell
is his hand still twitching; he starts to panic because
he can feel the bile rising in his throat, he can feel
goosebumps on his arms he can feel the anxiety
radiating like a furnace he can feel it all and he doesn't
blink, he just tries to focus on his breathing but he
can't he can't he can't he can't all he can do
is look at the boy with the twitching hands and hope that
he stops because it was ruining everything all he
wanted him to do was stop stop stop stop but
he wouldn't, he would never stop it never
stops no matter how many pills he takes no matter
how many therapy sessions he attends, there is
still that boy in the back of his mind and his hands
are constantly twitching and they don't stop they only
become distracted by the ceiling fan or the tiles on
the floor or the hanging thread on her dress or
the on and off switch and having to turn it
on and off on and off on and off on and off
four times before it feels right
nothing ever feels right anymore, it is all a matter
of becoming distracted and trying to focus
******* anything else but the boy with the twitching hands
kinda want to do an entire collection on mental disorders? thoughts? i hope i conveyed this well
Don't go, check under my bed.
The monsters are only afraid of you.
Don't go yet. Look into my head.
Where the worst of them live.
The monsters are inside of me.
Can you see them and all the things they do?
They are inside my head, torturing each memory.
At night, I dream that one day I could fly.
That I can escape my head and live in the sky.
The nightmares take over and I fall.
Every night, I am going nowhere.
Maybe if I stay a little longer.
Maybe if I stopped giving a care.
Maybe I can change this strange world of mine.
Gravity pulls me down.
Right when I think I can fly,
I fall to my death.
Who knew it was so easy to die.
But how can I die, when I'm already dead inside?
There's no thought, there's no brain.
Yet again, have I gone insane?
The monsters have taken over my head.
My own thoughts, used to be mine.
So, check under my bed one last time.