I’ve created a monster. Who would’ve thought it was me? All she does is embarrass me! Every minute of every day . She constantly tells people everything. She always repeats herself, and asks the same questions over and over. And she never understands the simplest things! It’s maddening. She says it’s because of her brain injury. So what . I’m sick of her excuses. I’m done with her.

I told her ,I’ve heard this all before ,and it’s branded in my broken brain- “No one will shed a single tear, or hold you close while you shake and tremble with fear . “All your angels, roses, & butterflies have turned into devils, snakes and cold dark space. “

But , I’ve learned to make friends with her, since no one else ever stays around her long enough. This way I will have someone whose with me forever, since my husband broke every vow too many times to count. The End.

A poem addressing all unaccepting parents of transgender children

The moment you hold your newborn child in your hands And them then something that means your whole life— So one day You can look down at the plant you grew and say “I made this”… But have you ever realized Your child isn’t a plant They are a tree Their colorful blossoms and leaves shine gold Under the broad daylight In a flock of birds, They attack the most colorful one out of all of them because being different is seen as a threat. You cut cut off your child’s branches Snipping away at the leaves, Try to cut it down But their roots stay strong You will lie to your child, And call the them a simple little plant And they will put on a mask By looking at other plants Instead of their forest Which you are always trying to burn See the soul, Not what carries the soul The flesh upon your child’s subtle bones Do not determine who they are So in the garden, Let your child be a forest Not a damaged seed

He couldn’t move. Her minds force fare out numbered his own will power. He was stuck. And he felt as if death was near. She stalked closer, an unusual look dancing on her face. “Do you know what you have created?” She whispered is his ear, her breath on his neck. “I… I have created a monster!” She smiled sadly. She knew. And she hated it just as much he did. “Yes, yes you did. But the way I see it, you created a villain, not a monster.”

Ive created a monster But you cant tell from her looks She hides in the shadows In corners, creaks, and nooks

She smiles all the time So you dont ever know Her thoughts are like prisoners of a crime Trapped in bars so she can’t grow

She likes the fall So she can jump in leaves Blend in with the darkness Of the dying trees

She runs from things shes scared of She winces at her friends Knowing they will leave her In the very end

She doesnt like her features Her hazel eyes and hair The sadness will not free her So she acts like she does not care

She likes to sit in the rain To feel its tears of wrath That way when she cries They conceal the path

She doesnt like her self She isnt who she used to be I look just like the monster Beacuse the monster is me

With thoughts in my head, and words out of my mouth, I’ve learned they won’t like me, even if I don’t head south.

I’ll watch my words, they’ll still find flaws. It’s torture, really, while I wait for it all to crumble, to give them a reason not to hate little old me. But I guess that’s how it’s going to be.

I’ve talked too much, I’ve lashed out just enough for my past to define me. My life was never rough until someone gave me a definition of what Zain means.

Nobody cared to let Zain define herself, because you’ll learn, monsters are crazy, can’t think for themselves. Sometimes even, they’ll think too much, and that became a reason why they’re looking at you sideways, wondering what happened to the old Zain. Why can’t you be happy? Ignore the pain of being a teenager, It’ll be gone in a few years. Yeah, well, will the tears?

Thinking’s supposed to be educational, but unless the lesson is the anatomy of a monster, that’s a class we just be messing around in like hooligans. Because monsters are made from the minds of people like me. People like Zain. People who can’t write poetry without blowing up into little free verse, people who live inside their own curse.

There’s people here, the first ingredient to a monster. Overthinking comes next, like boiling a lobster.

Wait for a moment. Just let the chaos be. I’ve created a monster, and I’m afraid to say it’s me.

Brewing It is In black pots Boiling over each night, And I tend to it Stirring that twisted form in circles Skimming the matter gathering on the thing, That grows like a strange flower eager to bloom And my hands linger at the beginning Of this secret and wicked birth, To cradle my concocted child And nurse it harshly With cold phials, Until it Screams.

I created a monster.

Who do I see?
When I look through this mirror
I see a monster, a demon
I faced a crime but cannot face the time.
What have I become?
What have I turned into?
I took his life.
In the blink of an eye, 
His life cannot be saved.
Now I live as the devils slave.
What have I turned into?

Begin with a breath let the air fill you Pull the cool metal
Like no one has before you ‘A mess’ ‘Filth’ Wait till they’ve seen a mess at its best At the hest of someone finally fed up Like staring at the sun Like you know things have yet to become See that ‘Mess’ come alive infront of you Something you only dreamed in your lonesome of coming true You’ve created a monster I’ve created a monster We all have created a monster But who? Letting fester instead of bloom After all what is a girl silent If not pretty like violet And a monster If not something to boil till eruption You nor ‘your mess’ can be comforted A girl and her monster, who she will not let be beheaded.

Blonde hair, Blue eyes reflecting, Innocence and a bright path, a young girl, A younger version of myself, searching, For her place in a vast world.

She set forth, arms wide, the spark, In those blue eyes shining, not yet dimmed, Oblivious to the monsters slithering beneath, Her own skin, and the war to come.

I’ve created a monster. In my lab. I’ve created something. It is FAB.

But I know. This doesn’t last forever. So I savour my last bit of treasure.

Do you know what I’ve done?

I don’t know myself. I slowly leave it on the shelf.

Mum says “AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”, But I’m sure she meant well. I tell her to keep looking. She says “I LOVE IT BUT HURTS MY EYES.”

I MADE A BIG………………..…………….

Chicken shaped………..………………………………………………………………………………………………………

**PILLOW **