How I'm a Monster

As most of my other poems, this one has 100 words as well.

I wasn't a monster before,

but since I had gotten so ill.

In view of that, I've been sore,

a beast, seeing to kill (myself).

 

With my sickness, I'm a monster:

Encephalitis has made me wrong.

Every month, I go to my doctor,

who tells me to just stay strong.

 

For I seem like a horrid being,

my disease formed me to that.

I'm in a nightmare, dreaming,

a ghastly presence, really fat.

It's sad I sound like a freak,

I've really lost all of my friends.

How I am now, sorta a geek,

it just seems like the end...

Reviews

[Lovecraft]

Dark in its timelessness. This poem illustrates to me a certain truth: We, all of us, are freaks. The doctors tell you to stay strong, that it's all about positive thinking. But deep down you think it is all just bull and how difficult it is to stay "Strong" when you don't believe you can.

The worst thing is delving into endless self-pity. Trust me, I've often done so myself and it just leads you down a twisted, spiraling staircase that never truly ends.

Very nice poem!

[ThisVivian]

Oh my gosh. You seem so nice, thank you! Would you like to be friends on here &/or Facebook?

[Lovecraft]

Here, yes. I don't do Facebook. :p

[ThisVivian]

Oh. Alrighty then~! :)