Posted in poetry


If you would see my past you’d think it’s a monster

Hiding under bunked beds and shadows

Leering in the unknown truth that honesty is freedom

Unattractive to the possibility of pain

It stands in closets

Waiting for the curious and ignorant to appear

Prepping its usual aids for anyone who enters

Rearing ugly heads in the face of disposition

Tame as long as truth stands guard at every fixture

I am a night light

Standing in the mist of monsters

Daring one to prowl into the corners of my mind

Where secrets sleep and imperfection lingers

When my closet cracks open as if a monster will appear

I illuminate

With forgetful seas and everlasting mercies

My monsters stay in their place

Under restful faces

Stored in closets no one cares to open



My purpose on this earth is to mold imagination into a instrument of influence.

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