I wish I would have made friends with the monster under my bed,
instead of building a prejudice with the atrocities people had said.
All the years I spent, running to my bed,
he must have thought I was chasing him and in fear, he fled. 
Who says all monsters are mean? Who says their eyes are red?
It seems to me the monstrosity was only in my head.
For never once did he harm me, not like it shows in all the books.
Perhaps the monsters we fear so much are more familiar in their looks.
Maybe they have brown eyes, blonde hair, and two feet
And use stereotypes to destroy others that they meet.