There’s a monster in me, but none can see,
It hides beneath smiles so carefully.
My hands are calm, my voice is still,
Yet deep inside, it climbs the hill—
Of patience worn and silence cracked,
A storm of fury held intact.
It whispers low with molten breath,
It dreams of fire, it dreams of death.
Each word I swallow, each grudge I fake,
Feeds the beast that will not break.
Its eyes are red, its hunger vast,
And every slight becomes a blast.
I walk through crowds with steady stride,
But feel it twisting hard inside.
A single spark, a careless phrase,
Could set my world ablaze for days.
You call me kind, you say I\'m sweet—
But never hear the dragon’s beat.
You don’t see what my skin contains,
The searing wrath, the rusting chains.
Each \"I’m okay,\" each \"it’s fine\"
Is blood upon a secret shrine.
A shrine to rage that’s tightly sealed,
A war within that’s never healed.
I bottle screams in broken jars,
Line them up like battle scars.
I build a dam of self-control,
But cracks run deep within my soul.
One day, I fear, it all will spill—
And I’ll no longer bend my will.
That monster, rage, with fiery jaws,
Will tear through every quiet pause.
It’s not a beast with teeth and claw,
It’s silent judgment, shame, and law.
It’s knowing I must wear a face
That hides the fury I embrace.
For if I roar, then I’m too much—
Too loud, too blunt, too quick to clutch.
But if I stay as I have been,
The war will rot me from within.
So here I stand, a man undone,
A battle fought, a war not won.
And in the night, when all is still,
I feel it pacing, feel its will.
A monster not of tale or shade—
But one that silence, pain, and time have made.
So if I snap, or scream, or cry,
Know it’s the part I always hide.
Don’t fear the rage that bursts and flies—
Fear the quiet in my eyes.
For that’s where monsters love to nest—
And I’ve caged one deep within my chest.