Who am I to ask you for the time of day?
When you look at me as if I am a wall of grey.
My insecurities are fuelled by that devastating look in your eyes
That rips my very being from existents.
For you see, I am not like you
I am the nothingness that creeps inside your head
And haunts your once pleasant dreams
Until you plead for death to take you in its icy grip.

Who am I to ask if you will stay by my side?
For I am one of those many lost souls
And my abandonment issues how I wish to blame you.
You deserted me but I know I am the one to blame.
For you see my mind does not work like yours
It corrupts even the purest of thoughts
Impales them with the purest of impurities
Suffocating them like the vines around the necks of the flowers.

Who am I to ask if love is a shout into the void?
I still tear out my heart with my bare hands.
I am lost inside a world where no one can see the truth
It’s always them, it’s always suffer you sufferings in silence.
For you see they do not understand what it’s like
To be lost inside your own rotting head
Scared of the monsters under your bed, now they are inside your head.
No one cares if you ended up dead.

So please answer me, who am I to ask for your hand?
When you do not see me they way you should.
You see a feeble, weak, broken girl
Who’s too far gone to be saved.
For you see I am none of your concern
But that is where you are wrong.
I am a mother, a daughter, a farther, a son, a friend, family
I am everywhere, so please don’t turn your back on me!

Halloween, what a very strange time,
Kids dressing up like monsters I see in my mind.

Real monsters, though, don't have horns or fangs,
They just have the ability to cause painful pangs.

They know how to break your heart, and then throw it away,
And they never give you the time of day.

Let the children dress up as fictional things,
Real life monsters don't have scales, claws, or wings.

Guard their innocence; let them dress up,
And pray they'll never meet a real monster close-up.

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.