It’s funny how the world works. For centuries there’s been rain, sun, wind, and snow. Animals, humans and insects alike inhabit the earth and call it home sweet home. From cascading falls and barren sand planes, to lush forest and bush, the earth has it all, appearing to address the needs of all enemies, friends and foe. To the onlooker above, it appears as though we laugh and play with the dancing snow. We sing with glee in the sun's golden rays and snuggle up close in a fire's glow, whenever a storm hits close to home. Silver, gold, diamonds and rubies adorn the hands of ones we know. Bird song falls to those who are brave enough to let it flow. As the onlooker peers down, he sees the glee and love we bring. He sees the laughs, family and friends, but that’s just because we’re good at playing pretend.  

We’re good at hiding the darkness and demons, the things we are ashamed of, that have ravaged us for years. The lies and cheats, all shoved under the rug, so those around us won’t smell our nasty bug. The pain, the suffering, the blood, sweat and tears all wrapped in a bow and presented at Christmas each year under the mistletoe. Sickness, death, and destruction at best, all poured, stirred and whipped  into Grandma Janney's favourite generational dish. But why do we hide them? Why are we scared? They are only monsters in a closet under the stairs. They’ve been shoved down so deep, so deep we’ve forgotten, do you ever wonder what would  happen if we were to let in some light and allow the monsters to take flight…?  

What if the radios that bounce around some of our heads, were turned up loud, were let to sing out all bold and proud. Would some continue to cower from the laughs and whispers, or would we help them stand tall and show that this is who they are? Would we support the crowd who whisper and prowl around the poor fowl, like predators hunting their meal? Or would we be the present change? Would we grow? Grow up and bloom. Be the bigger person. The giant daisy in a field of gloom. For the radios, the drums, the constant noise, is not our song of shame but our anthem that drums to the beats of our hearts. It is not something to hide nor something to kill, because really have you thought about the worst that could happen still? 

When fidgets and ticks are called by those we love just another lick of anxiety and laughed off, would we ever do the  opposite and put up our hand, put it up all quacky and shaky, and say that “no, this is who I am and I deserve to be  shown!”? How bad would it be for the swearing to be heard as rays of light that we just want to be shined bright rather  than a burning pink sensation that crosses our cheeks. To not express ourselves through lips of steel, that are forced open  and closed by the puppet strings that society holds. The constant ticking of our brains, that uncontrollable timer, it  deserves to be heard and respected not closed off because it is different.  

Back hands, yelling, belting and pelting is all done behind the closed doors of our sunshine yellow facades. They can crack  and crack, but we won’t let them break, we’ll repair them over and over again. Could we possibly let them crack for once,  let the floodgates open and allow everyone to see the shadows that haunt our every means? What could possibly happen  to us that is worse than the welts that grow under our clothes and skin coloured makeup tones? Would the laughs be worth  it, don’t forget the gossiping whispers too, these are all worse to some than the realisation that they have a right to be  heard and respected too. They don’t have to suffer in silence and yet they do, for the societal tongue has a stronger sting  than any whip, name or hit someone could give.   

It is normal for all the frills, sparkles, pinks, even purples too, to be the customary things we girls are expected to wear, for they are the outfits of a princess, no? How we frown upon the black, ripped leather and lace that adorn the skin of those bold enough to dare. Bold enough to say no to the ways we see fit and build a fashion personality made of black cloth, deep lipstick and we now label as goth. But the depressive ways, the dark thoughts and inner demons must accompany these fashion ways, for it is only right that we judge others based on the clothes they wear, at least that is what is whispered into our ears. Whispered by those around us, sourced from that little devil on our shoulder. We each have one that we listen to, more than we care to let those thoughts in our head know. 

What about those of us who wish to dance, too dance our hearts out till our feet are dead. But no, we cannot, for it is a trade that is expected of us, to build, fix and support a family, as that is the purpose of the male title. That is what history has defined for us. Snickering looks and pointing fingers are all that await the performer who dares walk onto the stage. ‘Gay’ we call them, that centuries old term, offence dripping from every syllable, but what is so wrong with following the path our heart so desires? Is it wrong for men to want to dance, or sing or paint, even if it is the canvas that is the human face? Why, may I ask, why is it so wrong? Why can you, a female companion, do it freely but others cannot?  

So next time you lie under the covers at night, a whirlwind of thoughts spinning through your head, ask yourself why. Why  must the monsters make us hide? Why must we put them in the cupboard under the stairs each time we take flight?  What would the world be if we let these monsters be free. Would it really be that bad, or is it just another monster of shame that we make up, to protect all the others that could possibly be there but are really not? 

“But no,” we scream from down below, “for they are monsters and belong locked up in that little cupboard our monsters know as home sweet home.”