I’m holding onto some monsters,
and they’re eating inside me.
They burn my flesh and rot my food.
They wear barbed wire and twirl.
The monsters eat my words.
They have the power to stop my body.
Fuzzy little pricks they are.
But the monsters want me.
They scream at me but they’re here.
They’ve become my family.
I am full of holes that folks will see when they are gone.
I am torn & damaged.
The monsters are eating me.
What will I have without them,
if I ever let go?
Who is me that the monsters are eating?
© Michelle Routhieaux 2014