When I was little, there was a monster in my closet.
It huddled there in the dark, breathing.
I could hear it. I knew it was there,
but no one spoke about it.
So I closed my eyes,
tried to ignore it
and prayed for it to go away.
One day, a as a teenager,
I peeked at the monster in the closet.
It was so little, cute and fuzzy.
It smiled at me and I thought 'he's kind of nice!"
He told me he was my friend
and we could go to wonderful places together if I let it out.
So... I did
But with each passing day,
the monster grew uglier and uglier.
Until I realized it was not my friend at all.
I was right the first time - it was a monster,
and it was so scary and so big .
It controlled me.
It was my master and I, its slave.
So...
I prayed the sun wouldn't set
I prayed night wouldn't fall
I hated this monster.
And I hated myself more for ever befriending it.
But now I realize,
this monster in my closet,
indeed ugly and dark,
but peering closely I can see
it is made up only of shadows....
Its form is my belief it exists; that's what gives it substance.
The monster feeds off of my imagination, and therein lies its power.
So I'm going to shut the door,
close my eyes,
and start to LIVE.