The Monster

ByCarma Spence

Photo by jenn via Flickr.com
Photo by jenn via Flickr.com
On October 13, 1982, my diary entry consisted of mostly a poem. I now share with you that entry. Just F.Y.I.: each diary was given a name. For my Junior year in High School, my diary was named Duval, after a guy I liked the previous year. He died his senior year in a terrible car crash.

Dear Duval,

John Knowles says that 16 is the perfect age to be. I don’t agree. Being 16 right now is the pits. It can’t get any worse!

There’s a little monster eating my soul.
It hurts an anguish I can’t foretell.
It starts from my stomach
then goes to my throat
there it stays
and stays
and stays.
Tears can’t come out.
I’m in a cage.
No.
I’m in a box.
I can’t breath!
Help! Let me out!
The monster is engulfing my body,
     my mind,
          my soul.
The monster is …
          what?!
I can’t explain.
It’s too complex!
I’m in a whirlpool of
     mixed emotions.
The monster is me.
The monster is the whirlpool.
The monster is YOU.

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