cobwebs under my bed.

I must apologize to the monster,

that stayed under my bed as I slept.

It watched as I tossed and turned,

and fell silent when I wept.

I suppose we all realized the same thing,

looking back at our empty beds.

The monster wasn't the enemy after all,

not the one that pulled at loose threads.

I mean, what makes a monster a monster?

Is it a sinister smile, gleaming in the dark?

I think our fears create our monsters,

and we burn faces onto them, an unjust mark.

When I was 5, I was scared of the sea,

but I was ready to jump and even fail.

Now I'm 19, I am scared to jump and fail,

but into the sea, no turning back, I'll open my sail.

You think my monster heard my prayers?

and then carefully gave me something to fear,

easy enough to overcome in time,

so that my bravery might appear.

So that perhaps in the many years ahead,

bravery might not be such a foreign tool,

and that when the real monsters appear,

I am firmly equipped for the duel.

All the fragile, crumbling fairytales told us,

that the monster came to take my soul.

Why is the monster there, they cried?

Is it here to devour our dreams whole?

I suddenly begin to wonder the truth,

as I heard the lock fight against the key,

or was it because there are dangers in this world,

and the monster was only trying to protect me?