Anaphora: Monster

I am trying to become a monster.

the teeth that bite from inside

leave crescent wounds, aggressive even

in my own destruction. but the full moon

is coming. one day I will be alive.

I am trying to become a monster.

These touches burn, silver

hair choking as time. the bandages

peel away in the shower – in the

rain – in the morning –

warmth only makes sense at night.

I am trying to become a monster.

my own teeth cut often enough

that I do not mind the blood

in the air. the mirror keeps breaking:

it is fine. the cracks are important

enough to me.

I am trying to become a monster.

pieces mismatch and fall apart

but my body does not believe in

rebirth; only getting worse until

rock bottom becomes soft in my hands. falling apart at the

seams; pretty in pieces that

do not belong to me.

ownership is a game the lost

are not afforded.

I am trying to become a monster.

do not touch me

with those hands.

purity is not fitting on

anything but God’s creations.

my name does not fit.

I am trying to become a monster.

but when they come with the

pitchfork and set me ablaze –

when they ask me if I would rather be

feared

or

loved

I will choose loveevery time.

#HS