These Demons are Wrong

In the shade of the moonlight,
With the wind twining its false fingers through
My tangled mane of hair,
I wrap my arms tightly around myself,
Trying desperately to hold myself together,
Attempting to keep the fearful demons at bay.
The kinds of demons, who whisper,
Over and over they whisper,
Sanctioning every little fear,
Convincing me of every little doubt,
Highlighting every little insecurity.
I hug myself tighter
I whisper back to the demons
I whisper to each and every one of them
You are wrong.
I look up towards the sky
To see the stars winking down at me
A smile tugs at my lips
I drop my arms to my side
And I scream
You are wrong!
No longer believing these demons inside of me.