The Poetry Bar

monsters aren’t real.

Mommy, Mommy, there is a ghost under my bed;
Stalking and hiding … every evening my clothing is robbed.
Leaving me frozen in a cold night sweat,
The ghost leaves behind the stench of rotting breath, suffocating me from underneath my sheets.
Though a face hides in plain sight, it’s invisible to you.
Mommy, I pinky promise that the ghost is real
And I know it’s never nice to swear … but mommy?
This I must. Why won’t you believe me?

Mom, Mom, there is a skeleton inside my closet;
Shaking and rattling, the skeleton litters bruises under my clothes.
Leaving me broken; your band-aids won’t aid these deeper wounds.
Though you tell me broken bones happen when we fall …
Mom this time, you’re the one who is wrong.
This I swear. Why won’t you believe me?

Mother, Mother, there is a shadow outside my window;
Scratching and tapping, the darkness casts itself over me … taunting me.
Leaving me anxious, it threatens to break the safety of the glass –
No Mother! I promise that this one, this one is real!
Though the fingers bend, crack, and echo like the branches from the old oak tree,
They do not belong to the caring, gentle arms which once played and watched over me.
I swear. Why don’t you ever believe me?

Mother, Mother, last night the monster came back.
Salivating and drunk, he reminded me of my darkest childhood fears.
Thrashing and gasping, I tried to scream –
but the air in my lungs, mother, even they were not able to choke out my worst fear.
that the one who you said was never real –
… mother …
i don’t blame you, but he’s here, and he’s real –
as he muffles my screams, he mocks the words you once used to calm me –

Sweet child, don’t you know?
Monsters aren’t real.

My instagram handle is noelinethevenot, and my blog is
I am a second year university student studying English and history. I like reading thriller and mystery novels, and I enjoy things that are usually classified as creepy or odd. OH! And I love black and white movies. 🙂


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