A Quote by Laurell K. Hamilton
A little boy who's discovered the monster under the bed is actually real, and it's screwing Mommy.
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Any mother with half a skull knows that when Daddy's little boy becomes Mommy's little boy, the kid is so wet he's treading water.
Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?
Really, boy, unless you're ready to deal with the monster, you shouldn't go looking under the bed.
The monster behind the wall stirred. I'd come to think of it as a monster, but it was just me. Or the darker part of me, at least. You probably think it would be creepy to have a real monster hiding inside of you, but trust me - it's far, far worse when the monster is really just your own mind. Calling it a monster seemed to distance it a little, which made me feel better about it. Not much better, but I take what I can get.
I'm making out with a dead girl in my dreams. I'm screwing women I have no business screwing. I'm pushing away the one person who actually gives a damn about me. It's like the Bermuda Triangle of heartache and I'm sinking fast.
People look at me as if I were some sort of monster, but I can't think why. In my macabre pictures, I have either been a monster-maker or a monster-destroyer, but never a monster. Actually, I'm a gentle fellow. Never harmed a fly. I love animals, and when I'm in the country I'm a keen bird-watcher.
In 2007, I discovered I was a father to a little boy who I did not know about. After being on MTV's 'The Real World' and traveling the world, I was greeted by a stack of papers on my doorstep informing me that I had a child.
The Little Boy and the Old Man Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon." Said the old man, "I do that too." The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants." I do that too," laughed the little old man. Said the little boy, "I often cry." The old man nodded, "So do I." But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems Grown-ups don't pay attention to me." And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand. I know what you mean," said the little old man.
In 'Snow for Mother', a mother waits for her little boy to grow up so that she can take him to Alaska to experience the real snow, which he never knew as a little boy in the tropics.
I actually loved to dress like a boy, and I still kind of do and try to sneak boy's pieces into my wardrobe. I have Levi's boot cut jeans that actually might be from the boy's department, but I love them. Those jeans and flannel are my favorites. If I could choose anything to wear for the rest of my life, I'd just want a boy's outfit.
A mother and a little boy were walking along, and I could tell the minute the recognition hit the little boy. As he walked by holding his mother's hand, he said in a real loud voice, 'Look, Mother. There goes an old Gomer Pyle.'
I've always been curious about the monster that lives under your bed. Even at 30 years old you lean over the bed to see if there's something under there, potentially.
When I, who is called a "weapon" or a "monster", fight a real monster, I can fully realize that I am just a "human".
We love America just as much as they do. But in a different way. You see, they love America like a 4-year-old loves his mommy. Liberals love America like grown-ups. To a 4-year-old, everything Mommy does is wonderful and anyone who criticizes Mommy is bad. Grown-up love means actually understanding what you love, taking the good with the bad and helping your loved one grow.
Here I had a wonderful man who cared for me and I was screwing around with a self-absorbed, conniving monster who'd betrayed me in the worst possible way.
I love that, 'mommy-shaming.' When I was a new mom, I was obsessed with how I was being perceived and trying to fit in as a mom, going to mommy-and-me classes and things like that, and never quite measuring up to 'the real moms,' the 'robot moms,' as I called them.
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