the monster Angel-Clare Linton, March 13, 2024February 28, 2024 isn’t hidden under my bed but wrapped around my back like a sloth wrapped around a human. is green with red eyes, and its body is made out of goo with sparkles glowing from the inside–it pretends to be the light grey stars. cries like a baby, gripping her hands in front of the parent. stares back at me–it takes my own reflection before it takes my personality. I scream and try to pull the monster off of me, but, like a tattoo, it doesn’t move. climbs inside of me. doesn’t want to climb out. It explores my skeleton and tickles my toes. wants to see what I see of the world. It wants to know the sunshine flowing through my veins and why my dimples are now permanently etched onto my face. It wants to feel the warmth I give but hardly ever receive. wants to dance in the sunny wind and feel the heat on its glowing face. It wants to feed off the plants that smile at the sun, and deep down, the monster wants to join them, wanting to know what it feels like. isn’t hidden under my bed or exploring my body like a puppy exploring its new home; instead, it chases after the sunshine at the end of the long black tunnel. Related Poetry