Literature
The Closet
The monsters aren't in the closet.
The monsters are outside.
When we grew up we realized
That in there's where we should hide.
They chased us in here with their knives
And framed us for our "crimes".
They point and say, "Beware the closet!
Monsters are inside!"
I hear them talk about "my kind"
Through cracks between the door.
All I ask is for respect,
How could I ask for more?
The hateful glares, those judging looks
And all the dreadful things
Assault my waking moments
and stalk me in my dreams.
I shake and shiver, whimper and stir,
Safe inside my closet.
But safeness seems so temporary
when outside foes appall it.
We've