Monster

I think…I might be a monster.
I know it sounds insane, but hear me out.
I think I might be a monster. No fangs, no claws, no fur...just bad thoughts, bad experiences and bad actions with nice intentions.

I think this might have made me a monster.
Because if there's nothing to fear but fear itself, then I stare into the mirror and I fear myself. Because I know what lies beneath, so I hide behind words I've pieced trying to disguise the beast.

See, I know I'm a monster.
It's all about me, so I admit I'm selfish and conceited even though I don’t even like myself that much. I’m always asking questions for the sake of my own sanity like: What do other people think of me? Am I cool now or am I still a loser? Damn, I'm still a loser.
A loser standing up to get attention, never mind having an answer for anything or saying anything worth listening to. Grabbing the spotlight just so I can try to show people the better side of me. Showcasing positives because I'm too insecure to bear any flaws to the world.

See, for me image comes first and foremost so I have to be cool. I carefully choose what to wear hoping that even one girl will walk up to me and tell me that I look handsome today. I put on a show of bravado, faking confidence because I have to be a man. Show no fear, shed no tears and already that's something I can't do. I feel no guilt, no sadness. Blocking out the pain of lashes caused by pain and madness. But I will not let a tear drop, because boys don't cry…men do. But I refuse to take responsibility...

And that makes me a monster.
Every. Single. Day. I wish that people would see nothing but good things in me, never commenting with nothing less than a compliment. But...I can't do it myself. I'm judgmental by nature, rating girls passing by with score cards and stat bars. You can try telling me that it's normal for a teenager, but I think there's something wrong with me.

I think I might be a monster.
Shaken and ripped apart by heartbreak and haphazardly stitched back in parts as I try to pull myself together in a rush so I could try again and after the last time…I think I did it wrong or made a mistake or something. It’s almost like a case of exchanged limbs; try to move my leg but my shoulder twitches…now I can't do what I know I need to. And whenever this happens I turn more and more into a monster...and I can’t stop it.
I don’t bother trying to learn anything from experience, I take my thread and needle. Tearing open the stitches that cover my chest and back, I place my hand through empty space grasping for the heart I yearn to give someone.

But no one's willing to fall for a monster.
Flamethrowing propane in words, hoping I can light a fire in a listener. I'm living in the dark, the absence of light and God because I've already convinced myself I belong there; trying to hide in insecurity searching for a sense of security. Or I can spit venom, making people feel bad to make myself feel better about my own flaws, so I can gain something like a little bit of confidence.

And it’s almost like something’s broken inside of me…because I don't feel anything. Ain't no tears fallen yet, and there's none soon coming, though I'm trying everything to un-desensitize myself. I'm unfazed by death and glorify violence so I hate what I've become. Indifferent to poverty and suffering because all I'm worried about is living a good life and being happy. But what needs to be done is the opposite, just smile and be nice...but I'm content not to be a part of it, not thinking for a second about a single consequence.

So I think I’m a monster…just trying to belong. Looking for someplace I can be surrounded by monsters like me.
Then I realize that I'm already there. See, monsters are common; it's the angels that are hard to find. Earth's a breeding ground, nurtured by false ideas, bad advertisement, twisted morals, booze and boobs, and social evolution that's taking us the opposite way.

We're all the same but I'm transforming before my very eyes. I can't yell...I can't scream...I can't call for help and I can't cry. Because monsters are the reason people die. We all have monsters hidden on the inside, and that’s no lie. It’s not a big secret but I know why…because we know how to stop it, but we just don’t try.