Midwestern night.
There’s something out in the fields,
Something banging on the roof.
Fresh vomit in the toilet.
The sink is running, so you can’t
Hear your own heavy breathing.
Dad snores away in bed
Oblivious to the monster at the window.
The memory of nights like these
Grow archaic to him now.
But when you pass through the kitchen
On your way back to your room
Those eyes blare just as real as yours do.
It was week thirteen of shooting the fourth season of MonsterMan: The Challenge, and I was on the balcony of my room in the Burj Khalifa, breathing in the purple Dubai sunset wind, looking out at the chrome and concrete oasis.
The cardigan that my grandma wraps me in when I am cold;
Dusty piles of cards from someone who loves me;
Computer overheating with a two-thousand-million-word PDF scrapbook;
When I was a little younger than I am now,
I went home after school and wrote until bedtime.
That was enough to take me into the stratosphere.
I'd play in the cloud for hours and hours.
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