Not an enemy

Everyone was scared of the monster under the bed.

I used to lie on the floor and look into his eyes.

They didn’t seem threatening, only lonely and afraid.

We would stay there for hours,

both of us listening to the crack of cans opening in the other room,

wondering what they would fight about tomorrow,

what they would blame me for as their eyes went glossy with vodka.

We lay in silence, not enemies,

just two living things caught in the same war.

People think of monsters as something outside themselves,

but sometimes the monster is what you grow inside yourself,

or what you learn to live with in the dark.