It’s boring being a monster

It’s boring being a monster,
Chasing kids around,
Hiding underneath their beds,
Not making any sound -

It’s boring waiting on the stairs,
Hoping they’ll walk by,
Boring making little creaks,
Trying to make kids cry.

It takes so long to learn this trade,
To skulk and tap and moan,
It’s boring waiting all the time
In someone else’s home.

I want to see the world out there,
I want to make some friends,
Waiting for the night-time
Never seems to end.

I’d like to slide down bannisters,
Shriek and yell and scream,
Boogie to some disco songs,
Let off a bit of steam,

I’d like to run around the house,
Turn on all the lights,
Eat marshmallows, watch T.V,
On dark and dismal nights.

I’d like to have a bath sometimes,
And clean my smelly hair -
Put some decent clothes on,
For someone who would care.

I’d like to sit down to a meal,
Smile and laugh and chat,
Have a coffee and ice-cream,
Put on a little fat.

I dream of being normal,
Having a little fun -
It’s boring being a Monster,
When all is said and done.

I wonder what monsters would REALLY like to do?

Here’s a poem about a different type of monster – dinosaurs

 

 

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