I realized with a broken heart / that the monster I've been running from / is just a mirror away.

—

I've known for a long time that I have the genes of a monster, of an attacker, of an addict. I've known that I have to watch my anger, watch who I yell at and especially what (or who) I feel like punching. The anger takes hold and I can do little more than idly watch behind bars, helpless, as she yells and throws things and even hits. If the anger stays bottled, then she'll explode, and the release feels too good to try and restrain. So she lets it out and the people around her cower in shock and too much fear of this creature she's transformed into and when it's over and the dust still clouds her vision, she's shocked at the destruction around her. SHE, the tiny pacifist she is, caused the ice-cold fear in their eyes? Who is she?

Even the monster doesn't know anymore.