Art by Carmen Jost

I finally talked to the monster in my closet

She asked why I don’t lay my clothes out at night

I guess I’m too afraid of what she might think

That her words will burn holes in 579 Jeans

Now that I’m a ten, she’ll feed on me too lose weight

Even if that means starting a conversation with a toliet

At night, the monster feeds

She creeps her physical into mental

Reminding me of all the times I failed to fix my black hair

My black face

My black smile

After a while blue bruises show up with little effort

Red stripes occur suddenly

White stars return after a fist transforms into personal conversation

Home of the brave, yet I grow tired of this hair so I shave

This monster tells me I deserve deserted smiles

Maybe I should spit at spectators to avoid commentary

That she knows she deposits envy, greed, lust, gluttony, and hatred in my heart

It’s so cold, it’s so dark

Her nautical nonsense needs novacane

Needs nearly everything just to remember that I’m pretty

That my dark skin is one with the sun

My hair deserves to be wild instead of suffocated in a bun

But, somehow I seem to lose even though she never won

Then I realized, when I talked to the monster in my closet

She was in my dreams, my eyes, and in the bathrooms

Directly, inside of my mirror


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