Monstrous
I dragged my body through the
muddy dirt, murky water,
Only to find I’d pulled myself out
From the depths
Monstrous
Knobby fingers
Knobbled knees
I think if I encountered myself
I’d scream
Because who doesn’t
Scream
When they meet a monster?
When do you become the Monster?
What happens in the forest?
Happened, had been
What happens to you in the forest?
Warping, warped
Twisting, pulling, morphing
Until you pop into
Sludge and to slime
What happens in the lake, the loch?
When do you become
a/the
Monster?
Was it when I started growing
Scales? Skin leather hard to
Bisquewear in the sun?
Was it when my teeth became
fangs? Stretching and shining
To bite my lip through
The worry?
Or was it the hoarding?
The buttons, the socks, the pennies
All the lost things, tracing
Every seam through tendrils of Magic
Wishing and praying for
That something else
Which seems to escape
Words but not imagining
Was it in the lake, the loch?
Is that where the monstrosity
Took hold?
Or was it in the forest
That I became unrecognizable?
I'm Becoming A Cryptid But Not IN A Sexy Way
I’m becoming a cryptid, but not in
A sexy way.
Someone told me that once.
And the thing is that I am—
I’ve built a cavernous cave deep in my
Bedroom and I’m lurking and
leering through shuttered windows
And scratching at the crack under my door.
I’ve started dripping and oozing
And there’s certainly a peculiar
Smell that’s taken root.
Not the mention craving for
Raw fish.
Uber eats knows my
Sushi order.
I dreamt that I was encrusted in pearl.
But my scales seem somehow duller
Less lustrous
More calloused
I rogue my cheeks to mask whatever
Palour has settled in my skin
I layer my clothes to hide tufts of
hair creeping over my back and arms.
Don’t even get me started on the wings
Starting to grow
From the fleshy mounds
On my back.
— whatever I am is not sexy.
Whatever I am is monstrous.
Grendelin Drag
Get a load of this Monster.
Adorned in glitz and glam like its no
Little thing.
Glamour and Glitter like
He thinks he’s pretty, thinks he’s sexy.
Like we don’t know his Monstrosity.
Creature of the Black Lagoon
Witch of the Woods
Legend has it this
Grendel in Drag
Slithers and slinks under the
Light of the disco-ball moon
Raving and writhing under
Flashing stars
Screeching and shrieking to
The rustling of trees
The lapping of water
His Monstrous Dance.
The Monster and I Take Tea in the Sitting Room
Houses built of forest wood
Constructed Nest
We're told to fear the forest
We place our Monsters living in
The woods, banish them from the
Comforts of our hearths
But maybe that’s why Monsters
Look like that– growing thick skin
And fur to keep warn when the
Temperatures drop at night
Eyes bulging outward to grasp
What little light lives
Through a New Moon
Claws and Teeth growing pointed
And sharp for a psuedo-sense
Of security
I invited the Monster into my home
Evergreen candle burning on
The island
Sourdough starter shifting to bread
In the oven
The Monster wipes its gnarled feet on
The welcome mat, ducks into the foyer
We take tea in the sitting room where
The Monster hunches over the table
Looking almost clumsy with
Delicate china in hand
Pinky awkwardly extended
The Monster doesn’t say, but I
Catch its eyes on my collarbone and
On my wrist when my shirt
Slips
And I can see the sympathy in its eyes
Surely it must recognize my symptoms
The fur starting to crawl up my neck
The scales indenting into my skin
Because at some point a Monster has to
Become a Monster
And I would image that
You would never quite
Forget that Transformation.
My Body
I am trying to remember
When I became
Monstrous
When my body became
Monstrous
When my body became a Monster
“You’re becoming a cryptid
but not in a sexy way”
Not Pretty. Not Sexy. Not Hot.
Layering my Monstrosity in
Lingerie.
Wrapping and warping fur lined limbs in
Lace and silk.
Fangs smeared with lipstick
Stains.
Blush to transform paloured pourous skin.
The sex is in the heels—
8 inch stillettos
Walking through woods
Winding trailing animal
Paths slipping unnoticed
Through brambles and brush
Stockings ripped by bark
And wandering hands
—by my own sharp claws.
Memory is a tricky thing.
Monsters are a cunning folk
Not to be confused with
The Fair.
Between Us
I’m dressing up nice for you
Your sweet darling dear
Wrapped up in a bow
Wrapped up in your arms
Wrapped together as the
Ribbon comes undone
Tangles between us
Tries us together.
When you open your eyes you’ll
See the body that I am
I do not think I am sexy
I think myself unwinds to
Reveal scales
Leathery wings
Your tongue opens my mouth
Reveals fangs—
Are cryptids hot?
Would you grab the
Ass of my bronze cast
Likeness?
I am struggling to understand
The things that I am and
The things that I am not
But I will not return to
The Forest tonight
When I could find myself instead
In your arms