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
