In the winter,
I liked to drink hot chocolate.
I used to sit in front of the fireplace,
and not move
until I was scared that my face
caught fire from the heat.
When I was going to bed,
my mother would wrap me up
in blankets,
and I would form my own little cocoon.
I would be safe from the monsters
that linger in the dark
and play over my bed at night.
Now, I lie down
as I listen to the whispers of the rain
that are full of faint yet audible screams and hushed cries
as they fall
in pools where the muddy earth kisses the air.
I hear the monsters begging
in the silence of the rain,
but I ignore their soft thundering pleas.
When I was younger,
my mother used to
bundle me up in blankets
in the winter,
but now it is the summer,
and even the lightest of blankets
makes me too hot.
I used to use them as a force field
to protect me from the monsters
that hide in the dark
that whisper and scream
like the leaking rain.
I still bundle up in a blanket
even though it is 72 degrees
and my forehead is slightly damp
and my pulse quickens
as though I am running through a maze
and time is about to run out
and I cannot see my future.
It begins to blur as the time ticks on
and I am afraid of the monsters
who linger
in this no man's land,
but when I am with you,
you're the only blanket I need.
Your arms are my protection.
I ignore their screams
that bounce off and ricochet
in frenzied patterns along my walls.
Climbing. Reaching. Grasping
along those paper flowers painted on
and suddenly I am OK
with laying bare,
as my nipples stay hard
and goosebumps kiss my body
because the monsters cannot touch me
and the screaming whispers of the rain
cease to antagonize me.
I am 19 and I am still afraid
of the dark
and my monster within
that tries to claw its way out.
So, I pray.
It's raining in the summer and I am 19 and I pray
that you are here to stay
with your arms draped around me
so I can finally sleep.
The rain has become
a sweet melody,
a gentle symphony.
I am 19
and because of you,
I finally know what it is like
to sleep through the night.
