Friends & Monsters

 

There really are monsters under the bed
I have made them my friends
by plying them with cookies and warm socks and marbles
…they love marbles…
The children outgrew them and they were lonely
I was too
and – to be truthful – I find them interesting.
Much more interesting than….
never mind. (she may read this)
They are helpful too
shifting out objects from underneath and dusting
and matching up lost socks.
They like to entertain, more than you would expect.
(I know, I should not have bought into the “grim, scary monster” stereotype. Profiling is wrong…)
And you would howl with laughter over their comic rendition of “Strangers In the Night”
There really are monsters under the bed,
and if you look carefully,
you may see me too.

©jayetomas2013

 

 

 

 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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