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Good Monster
With an equal dose of fatalism and dark wit, Antigua captures the body’s capacity to cage and cradle sadness. Diannely Antigua’s Good Monster grapples with the body as a site of chronic pain and trauma. Poignant and guttural, the collection “voyage[s] the land between crisis and hope,” chronicling Antigua’s reckoning with shame and her fallout with faith. As poems cage and cradle devastating truths—a stepfather’s abusive touch, a mother’s “soft harm”—the speaker’s anxiety, depression, and boundless need become monstrous shadows. Here, poems dance on bars, speak in tongues, and cry in psych wards. When “God [becomes] a house [she] can’t leave,” language becomes the only currency left. We see the messiness of survival unfold through sestinas, a series of Sad Girl sonnets, and diary entries—an invented collage form using Antigua’s personal journals. At the crux of despair, Antigua locates a resilient desire to find a love that will remain, to feel pleasure in an inhospitable body and, above all, to keep on living.
- GenresPoetryMental Health
Unknown Binding
First published May 1, 2024
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Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews
April 3, 2024
Disclaimer: Diannely is my instructor in my MFA program. This collection is an absolute triumph; it is a shining example of what modern poetics can be. Diannely Antigua explores religious trauma, childhood sexual abuse, chronic pain, and mental illness in these raw, courageous poems. She invents the "Diary Entry" form, in which each poem is made up only of collaged words from an entry in one of her decades of personal journals. She also plays with "Sad Girl Sonnets," repetitive forms like the pantoum and sestina, and musical free verse. Antigua's sense of sound, imagery, and tone is inimitable, and I feel so lucky to know her and learn from her. I am grateful to Copper Canyon Press for the ARC; expected publication May 14, 2024. An absolute must-read of 2024.
October 11, 2024
how beautiful it is to be vulnerable
April 16, 2025
“chronically” changed my life i fear
March 20, 2024
The first poem, “Someday I’ll stop killing Diannely Antigua” might just stick with me forever. holy crap. ooof. a million times oof. i don’t have words right now.
GIANT content warnings for childhood sexual assault, suicide, & suicidal ideation.
this collection is unflinching, intimate, and honest in a way I can only dream of being one day.
Some quotes that stuck with me:
“maybe I like / to be devastated, to make a medicine / out of neglect”
“I admit something was planted in me, the need / to complicate a happiness”
“I was born / with all of the people I could ever create inside me.”
“I find something to love / like I find air in a room. I just walk in.”
“I admit / I don’t know a love that doesn’t destroy.”
GIANT content warnings for childhood sexual assault, suicide, & suicidal ideation.
this collection is unflinching, intimate, and honest in a way I can only dream of being one day.
Some quotes that stuck with me:
“maybe I like / to be devastated, to make a medicine / out of neglect”
“I admit something was planted in me, the need / to complicate a happiness”
“I was born / with all of the people I could ever create inside me.”
“I find something to love / like I find air in a room. I just walk in.”
“I admit / I don’t know a love that doesn’t destroy.”
August 21, 2026
“It takes more than guts to write great poems about shattering truths, chronic pain and trauma, vulnerability in relationships and regrettable sexual encounters.”
Good Monster, poems by the award-winning Dominican American poet, Diannely Antigua, unearths the hidden potential for empowerment in grotesquerie. She begins with an epigraph of five lines from the poem “Ars Poetica” by Dorothea Lasky:
“Like when he said I am no good
I am no good
Goodness is not the point anymore
Holding on to things
Now that’s the point.”
It’s suggested from the beginning that Antigua intends to address the intersections between the good and the monstrous. Monsters are inhuman in nature, often violent, cruel or evil. Someone who commits a form of moral transgression may be called a monster. But the scary truth is, sometimes the monster is us. The metaphor of the monster allows Antigua to explore human traits and experiences that might be considered monstrous or frightening by societal standards. Forcing an honest look, Antigua tears the human self apart.
It’s not unusual for poets to take inspiration from the most repulsive qualities of existence. We look to Antigua’s poems, then, to delve innovatively into the human psyche while also illuminating moments of hope and transcendence. The output is more than artistic expression or confrontational catharsis. It takes more than guts to write great poems about shattering truths, chronic pain and trauma, vulnerability in relationships and regrettable sexual encounters. Antigua has taken the honest road Lasky’s lines traveled upon: “Goodness is not the point anymore.” Living is.
Working confidently with the line, Antigua uses form to hold up the intricate layers, such as in her series of numbered “Sad Girl” sonnets and diary entries. The poems go way beyond existential angst, thus transcending the superficiality often associated with sad girl culture.
Antigua skillfully navigates the depths of her own psyche, engaging the shadows (and monsters) that reside within. From “Diary Entry #34: Epigenetics”:
“. . .There will always be
scarcity—less food, less Klonopin—
which is to say I own a legacy of fear.
Tonight, another grandmother is dying,
and I cannot heal her. But I line up
my idols like bruises on my belly
and perform a nostalgic ritual:
I shower with my clothes on
like I did as a girl with a man
who wanted to be my father,
when I became a little bird, helpless
to affection. Did he make me
a good monster or a bad one?
I can keep my cage clean,
wipe my mouth with my thumb.”
The book’s table of context reveals some of the poems’ intentions in titles such as: “People Who Don’t Understand Mental Illness,” “Seasonal Affective," “Another Poem About an Ex but Really It’s About Me,” “Monster is Good at Breakups,” and “I Buy My Monster Roses.”
If we dare judge a poetry book by its cover, the outside image of Good Monster solicits an emotional response. A toddler in pigtails and a white dress prepares to scale the cyclone fence separating her from speeding cars in the road. Mid-climb, she has turned her head as if caught and about to be reprimanded. Imagine the words that were said (probably yelled) in the moment, and the sizzle of emotions, full-range. That’s what you get in Good Monster, poems that dare to climb over a protective but failing fence.
Antigua’s debut collection, Ugly Music, won a 2020 Whiting Award and the Pamet River Prize. She is the youngest and the first person of color to hold the title of poet laureate of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Good Monster will bear the mark of Copper Canyon Press, a renowned nonprofit publisher known for their commitment to high-quality poetry collections that celebrate diverse voices and perspectives.
Good Monster, poems by the award-winning Dominican American poet, Diannely Antigua, unearths the hidden potential for empowerment in grotesquerie. She begins with an epigraph of five lines from the poem “Ars Poetica” by Dorothea Lasky:
“Like when he said I am no good
I am no good
Goodness is not the point anymore
Holding on to things
Now that’s the point.”
It’s suggested from the beginning that Antigua intends to address the intersections between the good and the monstrous. Monsters are inhuman in nature, often violent, cruel or evil. Someone who commits a form of moral transgression may be called a monster. But the scary truth is, sometimes the monster is us. The metaphor of the monster allows Antigua to explore human traits and experiences that might be considered monstrous or frightening by societal standards. Forcing an honest look, Antigua tears the human self apart.
It’s not unusual for poets to take inspiration from the most repulsive qualities of existence. We look to Antigua’s poems, then, to delve innovatively into the human psyche while also illuminating moments of hope and transcendence. The output is more than artistic expression or confrontational catharsis. It takes more than guts to write great poems about shattering truths, chronic pain and trauma, vulnerability in relationships and regrettable sexual encounters. Antigua has taken the honest road Lasky’s lines traveled upon: “Goodness is not the point anymore.” Living is.
Working confidently with the line, Antigua uses form to hold up the intricate layers, such as in her series of numbered “Sad Girl” sonnets and diary entries. The poems go way beyond existential angst, thus transcending the superficiality often associated with sad girl culture.
Antigua skillfully navigates the depths of her own psyche, engaging the shadows (and monsters) that reside within. From “Diary Entry #34: Epigenetics”:
“. . .There will always be
scarcity—less food, less Klonopin—
which is to say I own a legacy of fear.
Tonight, another grandmother is dying,
and I cannot heal her. But I line up
my idols like bruises on my belly
and perform a nostalgic ritual:
I shower with my clothes on
like I did as a girl with a man
who wanted to be my father,
when I became a little bird, helpless
to affection. Did he make me
a good monster or a bad one?
I can keep my cage clean,
wipe my mouth with my thumb.”
The book’s table of context reveals some of the poems’ intentions in titles such as: “People Who Don’t Understand Mental Illness,” “Seasonal Affective," “Another Poem About an Ex but Really It’s About Me,” “Monster is Good at Breakups,” and “I Buy My Monster Roses.”
If we dare judge a poetry book by its cover, the outside image of Good Monster solicits an emotional response. A toddler in pigtails and a white dress prepares to scale the cyclone fence separating her from speeding cars in the road. Mid-climb, she has turned her head as if caught and about to be reprimanded. Imagine the words that were said (probably yelled) in the moment, and the sizzle of emotions, full-range. That’s what you get in Good Monster, poems that dare to climb over a protective but failing fence.
Antigua’s debut collection, Ugly Music, won a 2020 Whiting Award and the Pamet River Prize. She is the youngest and the first person of color to hold the title of poet laureate of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Good Monster will bear the mark of Copper Canyon Press, a renowned nonprofit publisher known for their commitment to high-quality poetry collections that celebrate diverse voices and perspectives.
August 22, 2024
Antigua has a voice devote and close to god and yet still breathy and filled with curse words. Her poems deal with her childhood, her abusive step father, absent mother, her mental health, her relationships and chronic pain. Monsters dance in the shadows of a girl’s dreams and the slut walks in the path of Mary Magdalen. Her poems feel personal in a way that makes you want to keep reading to find out what happens, to reveal the confession.
“I knew he was jealous -God, not the boy. Instead of Proverbs before bed, I spoke to the boy on the phone, whispering, my body cramped in the dark corner of the living room, my family already asleep. I told the boy”
“If I could take my tiny shovel hand, carve out the synapses from my head, shoulders, knees and toes.”
“The disease reached a longitudinal pain and I blame the gods of my childhood, Jesus and the TV, and the basement parties where I became a forgotten church, when the boys came for pleasure and I asked for mercy.”
“after I have wasted myself on the pain of the unknown.”
“I thought I was supposed to leave all my bodies buried. But I look for them, my fingers deep in the mud now, scraping the ground with what nail stubs I have left.”
“I'm an inspiration for returning-
the married man goes back to his wife, puts his lips back on the beer bottle. I return to a country that loved me once, get drunk at the same bars.”
“I'm not used to feeling good or even just okay, and I'm frightened I'll turn healthy and boring.”
“I knew he was jealous -God, not the boy. Instead of Proverbs before bed, I spoke to the boy on the phone, whispering, my body cramped in the dark corner of the living room, my family already asleep. I told the boy”
“If I could take my tiny shovel hand, carve out the synapses from my head, shoulders, knees and toes.”
“The disease reached a longitudinal pain and I blame the gods of my childhood, Jesus and the TV, and the basement parties where I became a forgotten church, when the boys came for pleasure and I asked for mercy.”
“after I have wasted myself on the pain of the unknown.”
“I thought I was supposed to leave all my bodies buried. But I look for them, my fingers deep in the mud now, scraping the ground with what nail stubs I have left.”
“I'm an inspiration for returning-
the married man goes back to his wife, puts his lips back on the beer bottle. I return to a country that loved me once, get drunk at the same bars.”
“I'm not used to feeling good or even just okay, and I'm frightened I'll turn healthy and boring.”
August 1, 2024
A beautiful description of living with something destructive within you--the fragmentation of self that occurs and the complicated relationship that other parts of you develop with that thing. The free rein that Antigua gives to that thing (from the beginning with "Someday I'll Stop Killing Diannely Antigua") allows it to express its twisted concepts of love and protection. To me, this served as a powerful reminder that even the most violent, seemingly irredeemable parts of ourselves originate as forms of self preservation.
Before Diannely visited for a poetry event at my school, we read her "Ars Poetica." I found this poem just as intriguing the second time around, as it thinks about questions I am endlessly interested in--particularly the violence/control in beauty and how that becomes self-imposed.
I really enjoyed all of the incorporations of rituals/offerings (religious, mythical, witchy, etc.) as well as nostalgic language to convey the perspective of a child. I wish that that had remained as prominent throughout the entire collection.
Before Diannely visited for a poetry event at my school, we read her "Ars Poetica." I found this poem just as intriguing the second time around, as it thinks about questions I am endlessly interested in--particularly the violence/control in beauty and how that becomes self-imposed.
I really enjoyed all of the incorporations of rituals/offerings (religious, mythical, witchy, etc.) as well as nostalgic language to convey the perspective of a child. I wish that that had remained as prominent throughout the entire collection.
May 28, 2024
There’s a particular candor in Antigua’s poems that make it feel as though you’re in an intimate conversation with her and not just reading what she has to say. Antigua lays bare the emotional and mental pain she suffered in this collection, ranging from sexual abuse as a child to religious trauma, while also sharing her disabled experiences with chronic pain and mental illness. There’s no question that this collection is heavy, but it’s a powerful one that reflects a resilience to continue to find love and life in spite of all the negatives.
I was especially taken to the “Diary Entry” poems, which were made up of collaged words from her actual diary entries over the decades. I also appreciated that there was a Spotify playlist for this collection. These particularly personal touches made these poems especially beautiful, even if many were heartbreaking.
I was especially taken to the “Diary Entry” poems, which were made up of collaged words from her actual diary entries over the decades. I also appreciated that there was a Spotify playlist for this collection. These particularly personal touches made these poems especially beautiful, even if many were heartbreaking.
June 25, 2024
A breathtaking collection of poetry about identity, desire, trauma, family, and survival.
from Someday I'll Stop Killing Diannely Antigua: "sixteen years waiting, took a steak knife // to your wrists, drew striped doors, / and the red entered the room. // Once I opened all the pill bottles, / left them on the dresser, watched you— // one, two, three pills at a time— / swallow them in front of the mirror, // reflection slipping into bed after, / into the little trap I'd set."
from A Hundred and Then None: "I don't know what he said, but it sounded like my name, / like my stepfather when he called me four Christmases ago / from an unknown number, said he loved me like a daughter / as if he'd never touched me like a lover."
from Connections: "I admit // I love a city that reminds me of him. / I admit something was planted in me, the need // to complicate a happiness."
from Someday I'll Stop Killing Diannely Antigua: "sixteen years waiting, took a steak knife // to your wrists, drew striped doors, / and the red entered the room. // Once I opened all the pill bottles, / left them on the dresser, watched you— // one, two, three pills at a time— / swallow them in front of the mirror, // reflection slipping into bed after, / into the little trap I'd set."
from A Hundred and Then None: "I don't know what he said, but it sounded like my name, / like my stepfather when he called me four Christmases ago / from an unknown number, said he loved me like a daughter / as if he'd never touched me like a lover."
from Connections: "I admit // I love a city that reminds me of him. / I admit something was planted in me, the need // to complicate a happiness."
May 25, 2024
“to cling is to build
an altar of collected things: this broken
crayon, that dull knife, another stained shirt.”
— from diary entry #31: attachment disorder
diannely is one of my favorite contemporary poets, and this collection did NOT disappoint! she writes about trauma, sensuality, faith and mental illness with a candor that particularly resonates with me; every poem in this collection left me going “this is LITERALLY me!”
also, after laying it out in an issue of cherry tree in 2020, it was neat to see sad girl sonnet 25 in conversation with other, related pieces.
an altar of collected things: this broken
crayon, that dull knife, another stained shirt.”
— from diary entry #31: attachment disorder
diannely is one of my favorite contemporary poets, and this collection did NOT disappoint! she writes about trauma, sensuality, faith and mental illness with a candor that particularly resonates with me; every poem in this collection left me going “this is LITERALLY me!”
also, after laying it out in an issue of cherry tree in 2020, it was neat to see sad girl sonnet 25 in conversation with other, related pieces.
July 30, 2024
While I'm biased and lucky to call Diannely a poet sister, my goodness, she's done it again. A beautiful collection, building from her glorious debut, Ugly Music, unveiling more of herself and her mind before our eyes in a truly magical way.
September 21, 2024
Liked: Familial/female devestation. Disliked: Religion went over my head.
August 18, 2025
Massachusetts Poetry Festival 2025
December 23, 2025
in this collection, diannely antigua lays it all out in the sun, and what a gift that is.
August 11, 2026
“each petal I plucked so gently / from the stems gave in to me”
May 25, 2024
Great writing, powerful poetry. I had to read this in the middle of the day, preferably a sunny day, to balance the difficult feelings portrayed in these poems. I'm grateful to Copper Canyon Press for introducing me to poets like Antigua, who I probably otherwise would not have known about.
Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews