Friends With The Monster

This is a narrative poem, typically not what I'd go for when I'm writing. Let me know what you think. :)

Every night, there it was

The monster under the bed

He was friendly, but he was scary

because he was ugly.

The little boy could never sleep

He had no friends at school because

the images of that terrible monster

would present themselves as a slideshow.

Over and over and over again.

He wanted everybody to stay away.

The monster was still there.

The monster was always there.

Therefore everybody was a monster.

Momma told the little boy to never judge a 

book by its cover.

Eventually he let that monster talk with him 

Turns out, the monster makes real good jokes,

and is not that evil.

His ugliness was forgotten,

and they became best friends.

They talked about anything and everything,

and grew up together.

But soon the monster under the bed

turned into the monster inside his head.

But that was alright.

Momma told him to never judge a book by its cover.

But we all know what they say about monsters:

They turn you into one.

Reviews

[sette]

the sad thing about abuse is that it tends to become a cycle and that is so sad.