I grew into a habit – that is,
I like to convince myself that
I am a monster.

It makes it easy for me
to get away with things;
it gives me an excuse
to be strong and
violent.

As a monster,
I am unbreakable.

But there are nights when
I am so alone and left with
nothing but my own thoughts
and I am forced to face what is
real, and the sadness makes me remember
just how human I am.

Perhaps I am not human,
but neither am I a monster.

I am the dawn; for I am not
as dark as night, but neither
can I claim to be morning.

Not child, nor adult – rather,
somewhere in between
where we live in shades
of gray, and perhaps that
is our real freedom.