the monsters under my bed know me better than you do

Today I realised something. It's the fact that I never tell you the whole story. I tell you what you want to hear, not what you need to know. I treat you less better than I treat my diary. I tell it everything. My hopes. My fears. My love. My hatred. And because I put it under my bed, I'm sure that the monsters read it. See? They know me better than you do. You never even try to listen to me, so you deserve only one little part of my story.