the monster lives in my head not under my bed. it wants my confidence for breakfast, uses my peace of mind for mattress, and pulls the blanket of doubt tight across my chest. it’s quiet when others are near, but it sings when i’m alone. a tune made of shame and questions left open. some days, i shrink to feed it. some days, i dare to starve it. and on the rarest days i remember it isn’t me.
If you’re in the mood for more poetry:
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Yes the monsters live in our heads.
Love this! 😁 Thank you!!