Some nights the beast is at my door
and there’s a hole in my stomach from whence it escaped.
Some nights the beast is on the street chasing me
and the slightest pause is a monumental mistake.
The beast comes in many forms and wears many faces…
Sometimes it’s the old me trying to revive.
Sometimes it’s my negative self trying to survive.
Sometimes it’s panic where none should be.
But sometimes it’s the inner warrior pushing me.
Dear beast, as horrible and terrible as you are
I’ve learned I can twist you to do my bidding.
Dear beast, I’ve come to appreciate your dreams
even if they wake me at night…no kidding.
©April 2014, Christina Anne Hawthorne