The Beast

Meeting the Monster Within

I wrote an earlier version of this poem when I was 18 years old. I was carrying feelings of shame and unworthiness, a running theme throughout my youth. It was 2003. I’d just graduated from high school, and I was on a weird work-vacation thingy—tutoring math to my dad’s former boss over a summer in a tiny village in Costa Rica. My dad’s boss is a now-nefarious figure in the so-called Troubled Teen Industry, but that’s a story for another day.

My dad was sleeping with the TV and lights on. I’d just watched South Park and Taxi Cab Confessions on the TV, and I was wondering what I was doing with my life, living it for other people. I kept doing so, going on to become a Mormon missionary at 20 for my church, for two years in Quebec.

And there it was, my shadow, a beast, awakening on the page.

This poem has evolved with me. What began at 18 as a vague, dreamlike encounter with something scary deepens into a more honest psychological story, where the moment of contact is no longer simply a liminal apparition but the reflection of a shadow that I didn’t yet have the language to describe. The symbols and imagery remain, but the meaning deepens into something I can paint and accept rather than reflexively turn away from.

If you’re curious, I’ve included the original version at the bottom of this post.

---

The Beast

I saw a mother’s wrinkled hands,
With soapy foam and water dripping.
Her tears were dripping warm and slow,
As her sickly babe was sleeping.
I heard her quiet melody at twilight’s hour

…

As the day conceded to night,
a mirror shimmered into sight,
revealing that woman, in white.

…

The Maiden they call her
(Who knows her name?)
Keeping one hand to rest at her side,
And the other outstretched to mine,
She clasped my hand—
Trembling fingers, intertwined—
and parted her lips as if to speak,
no words came out, no song released,
As her eyes gaped wide.

The mirror shook, revealed

a beast.

Its face a gruesome, lumpy heap,
A leer, a smile, dim ember eyes
My hand, held fast as claws dug deep
And pain, a purge, then crimson seep.
Its back a hump, it poised to leap—

I bounded back
Felt talons retract,
a grazing tear across my palm

I turned to run

No sooner spun:

The mirror—gone.

…

And still, sometimes,
within my dreams,
I catch a glimpse

That radiant being
That other love,

Divinity? Removed from me

in the murky glass
Replaced at once by time-worn fear—

…

As I awake, I recognize
That the smoldering sneer
sprouted from my eyes—

Was I, the beast in disguise.

---

Metropolitan Museum of Art , CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

---

The original version:

I saw a woman’s wrinkled hands, 
With soapy foam and water dripping. 
I saw her tears run warm and slow, 
As her sick and tender child was sleeping. 

I heard her soft, sweet melody, 
Like the tones reflected off twilight’s rainbow… 

And when the day conceded to night, 
And when all the world seemed right, 

A mirror came into sight, 
Revealing that woman, in white. 

The Maiden they call her (I know not who) 
Then placing her hand to rest at her side, 
And her other outstretched to mine, 
She took my hand in hers 
And opened her mouth as if to speak. 
But no words came out, no song released, 
As her eyes went wide and terrified. 

Abruptly the mirror revealed a beast. 

I then turned ‘round, but only found 
That nothing was there but soft, cool ground. 
I concluded I was not sound, of mind— 
Knowing there was nothing to find. 

And yet, sometimes, 
Within my dreams, 
I still do see that lovely being 
Of love and joy, 
Divinity
Removed from me by the knowing mirror 
And replaced at once by my own fear, 
With a horrible, dark, and menacing leer. 

Then I awake and recognize 
That the ominous sneer 
Came from my eyes 
And that I was the beast in disguise.