Frankenstein Was The Monster

There is a monstrous desire in me

I feel it bubble up from deep within

Sickly and needy and base

Its pale yellow ichor clouds my eyes

And I know if you were to see this

Infection bleed from me

You would be disgusted

I have long been denied the love I was promised

I was assured what was given would be returned in equal measure

But instead I have poured out all I can

Worked fingers to the bone

Bones that were never mine

Bones that were stolen from graves of those who might’ve felt what I crave

Maybe that is why I have such need

For I carry within me the yearning of those

Who’s bodies created mine

Have I not done what was asked?

His sin against god is what made me

He made me and yet he denies me?

I did not ask to be birthed in this foul manner!

I awoke upon his table and saw the blasphemous,

rapturous joy in his eyes dissolve into

Horror

Horror

Horror

Am I that horrifying?

He made me to be beautiful

I am called monster

Monster

Monster over and over again

Every time the story is retold

And every time I am naught but a

Beast for his attempt to defeat

But what of you?

Haven’t you longed for love and compassion?

And upon being denied this base need sworn revenge upon your creator?

Every rendition I am made

Not born

Made

Of grave-robbed parts and ink and pen and plans of greatness

In some I may only grunt and scream and moan

Like an animal

And in others I speak more soulfully than the

Wretched scientist

Who took it upon himself to drag me bloody and raw into this world

I want to scream

I want to wail

I have been denied so long

Denied love

Denied community

Denied the titular role

They call me his name, you know

As if I had no identity outside of him?

Do I?

All I am known for is my creator

He created me and then robbed me of any life outside of his orbit

Now you see? Why these hands must bring him to slaughter?

How is it that he could easily accept me

Easily apologize and ask forgiveness

And yet he doesn’t?

I kill him not so that I can have peace after

But so that I may find peace in the moment

Of violence against my creator

You think that given the chance

You too wouldn’t wring life from the throat of your creator?

What happens after is meaningless

The pages have stopped and there is nothing left but the back cover

Maybe you will forgive me now

For my hideous frame,

For my yellowed eyes and my tightly bound skin,

For my violent hands

For now as long as I exist

The dark bubbling hate and pain will continue to writhe within my guts

After all, I was never given a chance

I will always be known as

Frankenstein’s Monster