Mama was fifteen when she had me,
couldn’t handle me at three,
so they handed me off like I was something they didn’t need.
No love in that house from day one —
I wasn’t there to heal the wounds,
I was there to distract her while he ran wild, doing whatever he wanted.
They dragged me doctor to doctor,
not to help me,
but hoping someone would stamp a label on me,
make me the problem so she didn’t have to face her own.
So I found sports, found music, found anything
that kept me out the house until the streetlights came on.
I used to think I was born with a monster inside,
never knowing where he came from or why.
Growing up, the hits came harder.
I lost count of the times he’d swing
until my crying made him feel bigger.
Only time I felt safe was guns and dirt bikes,
those rare moments where we felt almost like father and son.
But that ended on our last ride —
he said, “You’re a waste of my time,
just some papers I signed.”
I felt relief and rage crash together,
but that was the last time he ever laid a hand on me.
I used to think I was born with a monster inside,
never knowing where he came from or why.
Mom found a new stepdad —
Dad’s best friend, riding in like a hero,
trying to save her from her own ghosts.
But he looked at me the same way Dad did,
like I was built wrong,
like I was trouble waiting to happen.
He never hit me — probably good for him —
and one night he told her, “It’s him or me.”
She chose not being alone over choosing her son.
Next thing I knew, I was packing bags for a foster home.
I used to think I was born with a monster inside,
never knowing where he came from or why.
So I made decisions no kid should make,
grew up faster than time allowed,
joined the Army, rose quick —
but woke up one day thinking
I didn’t want to die wishing I’d chased my dreams.
So I stepped into arenas,
church basements, bright lights, small crowds —
won trophies and awards that didn’t fix the ache.
Because the monster was still there.
Still whispering.
Still keeping me sharp in ways I hated.
But the truth hit me slow:
He wasn’t there to destroy me —
he was there to keep me alive.
To keep me moving.
To keep me fighting
when giving up would’ve been easier.
Yeah…
I was born with a monster on the inside,
never knowing where he came from or why —
but he kept me in survival mode
until I finally learned to live.
Scotty_Mathews44
