– a poem by Frankenstein’s newly liberated monster

I woke up to unthinkable thoughts,
he’d used the brain of a criminal.
I heard him howl in delight.
His Thing was born.

Creature. Fiend. Demon. Ogre.
But why not Adam?
He’d made me so even I couldn’t look at myself.
Cursed creator! Why did I live?

But my good disposition had taken over.
I had visions of amiable and lovely creatures,
and a bride I could call my own.
To no longer be The Other.

I am not Frankenstein’s Monster,
I’m my own Monster.


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