Little Monsters, But Not Fred Savage
There’s a little monster inside of me, and every once in a while it gets out. It says things I know I shouldn’t, and does things I know I shouldn’t, and then in the deep dark night it sneaks back inside to hide and watch the fall out from the safety of its home in the deep dark places of my heart. I wake up in the morning ironically mournful. I feel apologetic, embarrassed, the usual; nothing out of step with a night of drinking and dancing and toe-stepping. But the little monster creates more havoc than just that. When my little monster sneaks out, and then retreats, I’m left with questioning thoughts for which I can’t seem to draw answers.
I wonder which is more true, the me that keeps the monster locked away, wrapped in chains so that it has less of a chance of escaping, or the me that watches the monster take over my voice, my mouth, my hands, my self, and retreats to the center to watch the immediate fallout and giggle like a naughty child. I wonder if there’s a middle ground, if the monster and I can learnt o co-exist. I had previously thought I’d satisfied the monster, and she had grown into a different creature that would no longer say and do such things, but she was merely napping through the placid moments of my life, waiting for an opportune moment to sneak out and reclaim her place in the spot light, even if only for one night.
I don’t have anything more to say, so THE END. I apologize for the lazy writing.