My Monster

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about the trama that goes along with being a child with an unfit parent.

Submitted: February 05, 2019

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Submitted: February 05, 2019

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I remember the first time I truly looked in the mirror after it happened, it was like I was looking at someone else. 

Someone else had just went through something horrible, 
someone else was living with a monster,
someone else was drowning in sorrow, 
someone else not me. 
No, me, I was happy.
I had friends at school. I liked to play games, especially Pokemon, and have fun on the playground. 
That someone, was 10, 
they were 10 the first time the monster crawled into their bed at night and doing things that a 10 year old shouldn’t even understand, but they did. 
They knew the touches were bad, that they weren’t something meant for a little girl and a monster to be doing together, no. But this monster, the little girl called daddy during the day. 
You see during the day life was okay, 
her brother was safe and she was the only one who seemed to be affected, so she hide it, knowing that it wasn’t just her life that would change if anyone knew, besides, the monster only came out at night. 
It was about the age of 11 that this person started seeking friends in the wrong places. 
At first it stared out harmless, constant cleaning, and a lot of online reading, 
then it got worse, the reading turned vulgar and the cleaning turned into a blade, wishing, now more than ever, to be able to clean the filth from inside her. 
Day in and day out she would stare at that blade, trying to not confide in her friend but instead taking it on herself to scratch and claw and dig her own skin.
Trying to tear out the bad parts of her that made the monster keep coming back, again, and again, and again.
It got worse. 
The next time she looked in the mirror all she could see was him, it wasn’t her face looking back anymore it was his. She wanted so much to change her face and to try and make herself whole again,
but that just made the monster happier, “You look like a young woman”.
The girl would wear boy clothes, afraid to look nice, never wear makeup, anything to look unappealing, never bathing, whatever it took, 
nothing 
worked. 
She keep coming back to the knife, oh how it smiled, it wanted nothing other than to touch her flesh and she wanted nothing less, 
but the more it begged the more she knew, if she gave in someone would know, and no one could know. No one could know the pain this girl was suffering on the inside. No one could know about the monster, her friend, or how this girl had stupidly lost herself. No one could know.
But thats not the end of the story kids. Eventually she left the monster, she “escaped” but what does that word even mean, 
what does freedom mean. 
He was still with her, every time she looked in the mirror. He was still with her, every time an old beaten up truck came to close. He was still with her, whenever she fell asleep, 
every, 
single, 
night. 
There were ways to hide from the monster
you see if she throw on her war paint and throw on her bravest face, maybe she could make it through a day 
without, 
completely, 
falling 
apart. 
At the age of 16 the nightmares had become unbearable, she had tried to be with a man, but it only made the nightmares worse. Till one day, she never saw it coming, I still remember the bruises all over my body from where the truck had collide with me and my bike, 
Truthfully she never saw the truck coming, but she did hear it, it sounded like an orchestra of hope playing a song just for her, when the truck collided with her body the music stopped. I don’t know if the pain could ever go away, but I’m still fighting, 
every, 
single, 
day.


© Copyright 2019 broken in two . All rights reserved.

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