The Monster In My Closet

There’s a monster that lives in my closet.
But no one believes when I say,
“There’s a monster that lives in my closet,”
And I tell you he wants to stay.

He has big bright blue bumps beside his nose,
And merciless teeth that are knives.
He has green fur from his head to his toes,
And pointed claws used to take lives.

Oh how I wish that he would go away,
And leave me alone forever.
But when I asked him nicely he said “Nay,”
with a small grin, sly and clever.

I told my father to get rid of him,
But he told me there aren’t such things
“They only live in a land we call Whim,”
said he in his loud voice that rings.

I cried alone for a year and three days,
When finally came a thought.
I’d talk to the beast, to see why he stays,
And a sad answer is all that I got.

“There’s no way I can leave,” said he to me,
As Splash went his tears on the floor,
“I just want a friend,” he said with a plea,
I knew I wasn’t afraid anymore.

I felt sorry for him, he was so sad,
I bet that you know what I did,
I ran back downstairs, back down to my dad,
And told him what the monster did.

But my dad didn’t listen to my tale,
So I returned to the closet.
And told the monster to stay for awhile,
And his tears stopped as if by faucet.

He perked up fast, like a jack-in-the-box,
When I told him we could be friends.
And we played with puppets, made of socks,
And that’s how the story ends.

Because the monster lives in my closet,
Really what I’m saying is true.
The monster is living in my closet,
And I love him, I really do.

Yes, I'm struck at school....ew... but I randomly found this peice of writing from last year when we did poetry, and yeah it brought back some memories lol. I thoguht I should post it here though cause it's a happy poem, from a less depressing time... and if I remember correctly it took me hours....hours to write cause it had to be a certain length with a certain rhythm and had to have all the simple elements (onomatapiea, similie, metaphor...etc). And it had to tell a story...I hated this assignment but was pleased with the finished product. Ok yes I'm rambling but honestly would you rather be writing a french report on racism? It's so cruel and discusting how a lot of people treat their fellow man.... I mean It's just sick, who would do stuff like that to another human being? Ok I should end this now before my french teacher comes and notices that I'm not looking up the KKK. (Sick perverted bastards)