Mother, there is a monster on my bed.
There is a monster, fearsome, mean.
It shrieks and howls and whines
And never lets me sleep.
Mother please get rid of
That scary monster on top of
My bed.
What do you mean by that?
There is no monster on my bed?
Then what on earth is that thumping
That so plagues my sleep?
Mother no, please believe me,
I’ve seen the beast with my own eyes.
Soft and pink, smooth and bald,
It cries for me to leave.
It cries out, “Mother, come and save me,”
Trying to covet your help.
“There is a monster under my own bed,”
It clearly hasn’t glanced in mirrors.
No, I am quite certain.
There is a monster on my bed.
On late nights when I wish to sleep,
To dodge the searing sun,
The little beastie growls and snorts,
Great and fearsome threats.
It lays still, a frozen lump on my bed,
Waiting till I lower my guard.
In morning, when its dark and soothing,
the beastie shouts for me to leave.
It allies help of bigger monsters, poking in my bed.
I scramble away, scared and lonely as their
Great two peering orbs
Scan my private space,
My bed.
I cannot enjoy when the sun is sleeping
Because the monster on my bed.
Perhaps when I am bigger, meaner,
I can fight the monster.
I can stand up for myself,
And rid myself of the beast
But I can’t, and you can,
Mother, there is a monster on my bed.
Prompts courtesy of @the.plottery on instagram
This poem is wonderful but scary at the same time. What made you write this poem?