performance

sometimes, late at night
after my dad has turned off the lights
the door will creak and squeak
followed by the sound of heavily padded feet

swishing and moaning against the floor
as it makes it’s way to the closet door
the makeshift monster breaths out loud
a smell that turns into a bright purple cloud

it opens my closet and takes out a shirt
movements are quick and an attitude, curt
the buttons are fastened then pants are next
to match the shirt as I lay perplexed

why is my wardrobe the chosen selection
there are many more closets closer to perfection
there go the shoes, slipped on and tied
i can hear the toes cracking the leather inside

the rustle, the bustle the shifting of clothes
the tearing, the swearing, the sound of new holes
spikes along the back, scales under eyes
weepy long eyelashes all wet from its cries

how happy, how joyful, how lovely and free
when I realize the monster is really just me
when morning comes round with a flash of delight
I put all my clothes and shoes back to right

wonder what games this new night will bring
my voice is ready to belt out, to sing
no monsters tonight, here comes a zinger
tonight I will star as the world’s worst singer

performance

jjgmail

Joined January 2008

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  • jjgmail
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