since I was young, I always knew

that monsters under the bed never existed.

the real monsters were the ones we surrounded

ourselves with everyday.

our dad, our brothers, our friends..

they only told us they were under the bed

so we didn't see behind their skin and eyes

how rotten they really were behind the flesh.

the beading red eyes and foaming spit at the mouth that we imagined under our beds didn't compare to the whispers as their hands covered our mouths and told us that it was okay even though we knew it wasn't.

does that mean I'm a monster too?