Dark and quiet, it sits.
It gives no reasons, no excuses.
And I always like to know
reasons. And excuses.
So I tell it not to exist.
Monsters do not listen, though,
Monsters live on. So I say
it doesn't exist if
I don't want it to.
Vainly presuming
that I have any control
over what happens inside of me.
I don't, of course.
And I'm afraid.
It's a silly little monster.
An unimportant insecurity.
That guides me and constricts me
and knows me and binds me.
I can't kill it and I can't ignore it,
I can't live with it and
(because, of course,
all it is is I, made up
of my fears and
hatreds and lies
and all the darknesses
of me that won't be
suppressed)
I can't live without it.
So, ever so often
I am reduced to hiding
from myself.
Hoping to win over
this thing
that is nothing
but myself.
And what if
(oh god I hope not)
it is a big part of me?
What if I think I am all sunshine
with some dark insides, but
really
all I am is dark insides, monstrous
with a sprinkle of sunshine on the edges?
What then?
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