My roommate is a monster.
He sleeps on the rug next to my bed when he's feeling content,
But most times,
He doesn't sleep at all.
Instead, he laughs all night long, talking too,
Somehow failing to recognize what he's doing to me.
Keeping me up at night, never listening to a word I say.
I thought I was an expert on living with him.
Put the rug on top of him,
And plug my ears at night.
Tell him to stop stealing my food and let me eat,
Tell him to stop blocking my door,
Tell him to stop following me everywhere I go.
But I was sorely mistaken.
I'm no expert.
I forgot something crucial about this monster.
While he is vile, cruel, and mind-numbing,
He is also beautiful.
He sings songs of creativity in my head,
Convincing me he's worth the tears for poetry,
Convincing me he's worth the self-hatred for self-awareness,
Convincing me he's worth anything at all.
This monster convinced me that he had a place in my head.
That I couldn't live without him.
I'm no expert on living with him.
In fact, he's convinced me I can't even live at all without him.
This beautiful monster leaves sometimes, maybe for even months at a time.
Life is so simple, so lovely without him.
So, how come when he comes back,
I feel whole again?
Why does he make me complete?
I've learned over time that I am no expert.
I do not know how to live with him, but I do not know how without him either.
The monster is the expert,