The Boy Who Fought Monsters

A Poem by J. David

A mix between a poem and story, a poetic story perhaps? Was meant to be a piece on introspection but went on a bit of a tangent. Enjoy.

I knew a boy who fought monster’s for a living. Fell in love with countless damsels in distress. Who faced danger head on and wore his scars like badges upon his chest. Who was told evil never sleeps so he had no time to rest, because he believed that if he fell asleep he would miss out on something beautiful. So when he arose each morning like the sun, he would put on his suit of armour, strap his sword of steel to his waist, ready for whatever today he may face.

I knew a boy who fought inner demons for a living. Refrained from telling the countless love at first sights his distress. Who ran from depression and hid his scars like bruises upon his chest. Who never had time to rest because he was afraid of what awaited him in his sleep. So when the sun awoke him each morning, he put on his smile of armour and prayed that today’s hill isn’t too steep.

I knew a boy who had a fascination for stories. Whether written or spoken, finished or broken he would listen to all that would tell it. Not only because he found them interesting, but because he knew what it was like to hide himself and feel misunderstood. Because when you feel what its like to have no one including yourself understand you do you fully grasp the extent of what it feels to be alone. It’s crippling. So he listened where others would laugh. Smiled where others would stutter. Remembered where others would run. Because he knew firsthand what it felt like to scream and have no one hear you. And when they removed their armour and showed him the scars they wore like bruises, he understood how hard it was to show other people who you really are.

Because I knew a boy who loved monsters for a living. And when people asked him why, he would respond plain and simple. We all have the power to change someone’s life. We can make them smile and feel loved, we can make them feel appreciated and accepted. And if all it takes is the time to get to know them, then I will be the one to prove them wrong when they say that no one cares about them. I will wait arms outstretched for the days they need a hug. I will kiss the scars upon their chest when they say they don’t feel beautiful. Because what they don’t tell you is that like beauty, sadness can also be found on the inside.

So I know a boy who sees beauty. Can see the beauty in stories and the people who tell them. Who loves uncontrollably and unintentionally regardless of how much he gets hurt because he would rather get rejected than have someone be unsure of him. And whether they love him back is regardless, as long as they understand that amidst all the hate and deception, all the lying and misconceptions. The self-judging and self-loathing, the hiding of scars under clothing. Someone listened to their cries, looked them in the eyes and said “you are beautiful”.