IT.

By Suzy Monzer

 

It creeps through the city.

It’s thick, dark skin

illuminates in the darkness.

Pale scales mark trails

following its every move

as it crawls quietly

purring at a woman

who passes by.

As it lurks,

its head perks

up

and stares me

in the eyes,

and tries

to wear me down.

I shiver

yet stand strong,

my mind lying to my legs

whispering:

‘You can do this’.

It strides sturdily and its body intertwines

between buildings,

fine lines,

main roads,

and sometimes into my dreams,

Creeping into

the only time of day,

I used to savour for myself,

and marking its territory,

all over again.

Crackling fires,

burn new holes,

with harsh coals,

the creature

filling the crevices of my mind

with itself.

My body,

is no longer,

my own.

In a rainforest of doubt

the beast is the canopy,

blocking all sunlight

and hopes of escaping.

Its tree trunks

wrap themselves around

my waist

no longer teaching me to grow

but rather to conform

to a forest

that needed me

to be

still.

The beast

feasts

on fear

and power

Late night showers

lasting hours

as I try to scrub off

the memories

but the bite marks

remain.

I see its fangs,

and the spikes on its back,

pointing towards the sky,

as if to say,

‘I face my back to the stars’

Which teases

and taunts me

because ever since our encounter

stars have stopped smiling down at me

and I no longer have the heart

to look up

to the sky

and kiss

the universe

good night.

As I walk

down the path

I see it slither

into a coffee shop.

The frothy top

on its cappuccino

an attempt of hiding its

true identity.

If only people knew

that the monster

was within their grasp.

It slips back out

with a double-shot latte

and a handful

of ego

before scanning the street

for its next victim.

In the daylight

it was just as vile.

A sharp glare determined to leave any victim bare,

a tight jaw, clenched, and always ready to break any being

unfortunate enough to meet

it’s lips

that sit patiently,

waiting to lure in another customer.

And worst of all,

the sweet sound of humming.

Soulful and deep,

from the chest,

where the heart must be missing.

leaving a gap big enough

to allow the tunes

to echo sweetly.

This was the most painful thing.

A symphony of wonderful melodies

float through the air

and steal my thoughts.

For a moment

I forget the beast’s repulsiveness.

Its gruesome nature becomes

irrelevant

and it is only

a beautiful voice.

But, I learned the hard way

that beautiful sounds

are only temporary.

That is what got me the first time.

Its voice.

It set its bait and waited,

and I came,

hopelessly,

in deep belief that

I needed the soft harmony

of its voice

to drown out

the screaming of my mind.

It wasn’t until after

that I realised

it’s music

only plays a beat

for the screams to continue.

My gaze

lazily follows

its footsteps

and I wonder

how people walk by it

without feeling

fear.

Or anger.

Or sadness.

Or confusion.

Or frustration.

Or,

like the sun has been sucked up in a vacuum

Or,

like they’ve just hit their little toe on the edge of a table

Or,

like the colour blue was eradicated from the face of the earth,

Or,

like they’ve woken up without a voice

or their vision

or their sanity.

Insanity

is a messy playing field

filled with what you think is real

and the truth.

And that’s why

I could see his

glowing fangs in the darkness

while others mistook them

for courageous tusks.

And that’s why

I could see his

jagged scales

while others

saw his

silky smooth skin.

And that’s why

on nights like these I cry

while others

shake hands

with his deceiving grip.

When people ask what I think of him

I stop.

Not because I don’t know,

but because I can’t figure out how to explain the feeling you get

when your stomach,

refuses to process food,

and your mind,

refuses to process words.

Rather,

chewing on them,

chewing on them,

chewing on them,

like he did my dignity.

He,

was not vicious eyes

and dim lit nights.

He,

was not alley ways

or a spiked drink.

He,

was not a corner,

a dark shadow,

big hands

or white van.

He was a he.

Hair,

Eyes,

Nose,

Mouth.

He,

was more like

an after taste,

a vile after taste,

a crack in my mirror

or the sweat on my palms.

He was no where

but everywhere,

manipulating people to

believe in his

Humanity.

I guess

his body

wasn’t the only thing that was flexible

for he bent the truth

and so did I

to be able to live with the

finger prints,

finger prints,

finger prints,

finger prints,

scattered all over my body

like tattoos that I

couldn’t enjoy.

And instead of holding meaning,

they held

my deepest fears

sticking to me

like a brand.

Like

two

strong hands

grasping my throat.

Like a skin-tight skirt

that pointed the blame

towards my

long

tan

legs.

I swallowed myself whole.

I don’t usually think about the half monster.

I wonder,

if it would be easier,

if I didn’t know him.

Then he could be all monster.

But I guess when someone takes

half of you

so willingly,

then they must be all monster.

An empty monstrosity yet

a full monster

and nothing more.

He pushed me closer towards the edge of the cliff

I’d been climbing up slowly

my whole life.

He blamed me.

they blamed me.

I blamed me.

And when the waves crashed on the shore,

so seductively,

lapping their tongues upon the sand,

so lustfully,

I jumped,

So I too,

could be lapped by the sea,

and blamed,

for the last time.

I could no longer live knowing that

I could see

the monster

and they could only see

the man.


Author: Suzy Monzer

Suzy Monzer is an eighteen-year-old performance poet from Central Coast, Australia. She's a human activist who wishes that her work will bring new perspectives on social issues to the surface of public debate. Suzy describes writing as her oxygen and shares a piece of herself in every poem she writes.