Father Beast

I am afraid of pain.
Not of my own, no,  I know that pain like kin.
I’m afraid of hurting others.
So much so I can not look one in the eye when passing down a hall,
For fear I may discomfort them by looking to deeply,

I’ve studied how best to act,
How to be unnoticed save as a gentle breeze to comfort.
I can not bare to be like my father, with his heat and anger.
But there is a monster inside me.
I feel it every day.

I want to bare my teeth and fight.
I want to lose control and hurt those who injure others so deeply.
This monster slumbers, raising head only when stories are told,
For yet have I been witness.
It is easy to miss things when you can not leave your own mind.

I am a fool, and I anger, or perhaps hunger,
And I want to hurt people who have broken those closest to me.
If only I knew where they lived.
But I am afraid.
I am afraid of the pain I might bring.

I am afraid of my father, whose blood I unwillingly share.
And of the monster who has yet to open its eyes.
I can not bare to be like him.
But the serpent whispers.
Some don’t deserve to be spared.

I am not a good person, I am a broken one,
With a wish for revenge and no where to direct it.
For my father is dead, but the beast of human cruelty still lives.
Even within me.
This, I fear the most.