When Am I Old Enough to Never Be Afraid?

It's nearly midnight
Nearly that time from the stories
When the clock chimes and the
Notorious evil emerges
From the shadows

But not here, in this too-large bedroom at a disturbingly aesthetic vacation rental home

Here, nearly midnight
My not-at-all tan fingers clack on the keyboard
Hushed taps and rattles
For I'd rather not awaken the world
With my endless click-clacks

Here, nearly midnight
The eerie house pretends to sleep
When in reality, we all lie awake
Soaked in our own grief and confusion and mourning
Or in my case, words

My words are composed of
Utter resentment and truly weak fatigue from
One who's never even pulled an all-nighter and
A heartaching hiraeth for the place I call home
Not the clanky old house that I do adore and I sleep and eat in
But the pondering forest and harmony of tears

I'd like to go home, where I can dance around a fire until the night falls away
But this is reality, and in reality, I'm here, writing, in this eerie house of swallowed tears

It's late
And I'm only 13, after all
And there's these freaky dings coming from down the hall
And I should probably go to bed
Because deep down
I'm still afraid of the monsters in my closet