my go-to weekend plans

no one ever understands—

with all their boogeymen,

lining closets like wallpaper,

their boogeywomen robbing babies

from cradles. Kaiju optional.

To begin this ritual, i turn off

the lights, wait until every corner

becomes a stranger, yet at the room’s

dark dark heart sits me: the lonely

girl wanting not to care

for a while.

Monster movies,

where scared Black geeks can run off-

screen, live, and no one stops

them. Cut to screams. The screen

drowns in fake blood and all

the “dead” resurrect once the flick’s over.

Before the macabre screen, I can forget

how sleep and prayer aren’t enough.

The world outside this living room spins

and burns and spins. Here in this box,

there’s no war, no conquest, no genocide.

The monsters here are cruel,

not from hate, but from

hunger.

Monster movies

for the day falling—

for me, dinnerful, but needing

their teeth and blood to truly fill me.

No matter how much i shake and shriek,

the fear they give me never overstays.

i can turn on the lights. i can turn

the movie

off.