Monologue 3: "Roses are red" - Craig monologue

I found the monologue 'Roses are red' was an interesting monologue to look at as it explored a very emotional and deep state of a character who's mother had died of cancer. However, like the other monologue from "And turning, stay" by Kellie Powell, the monologue was not from a published play. Therefore, doing this monologue would not be useful to me as I wouldn't be able to explore the character's emotions from before that monologue and afterwards. In addition, the character is also a teenaged boy. It would be possible for me to play the character of a male, however, the more suitable option for me would be playing a teenaged girl.

I believe the monologue is extremely sensitive as it covers two main topics: cancer and death. Doing this monologue would have to make me bare in mind that the people who may watch me do this monologue may be able to relate to it. Furthermore, I'd have to be as sensitive to the context of this monologue as possible. Nonetheless, due to the sensitivity of this monologue, it would allow me to be challenged and try my best to portray the character and the given circumstances being as careful as possible. If the monologue was from a play (being published) and the character was a teenaged girl instead of a boy, I would have taken the monologue into further consideration. 

The monologue:

Craig's mother died of cancer two weeks ago at a very young age. Craig's father sent him to a therapist to help deal with this tragic loss. Craig does not like the idea of seeing a therapist, but he agrees to go to please his father. Here, he is speaking to the therapist.

Craig: You understand? You understand? No, you don'tunderstand. You think just because you have a Ph.D. and a framed certificate on the wall, that you magically know what I'm feeling? What a load of crap. You've just doing your job -- making your money. You probably never cared about anyone in your life. Well I do. I care too much. That's why I'm going crazy. I feel like I'm losing my mind. Every time I see a woman who even slightly resembles my mom, I swear she's gonna turn around and it will be her. Alive, here, now, smiling at me. But it never is. I keep waking up in the middle of the night, screaming, all drenched in sweat. Yesterday, I put my fist through the window and shattered it into pieces. My mom is dead. She's dead, and I can't even cry. Cause if I do, it'll mean I accept, really accept, that she's gone forever. I don't want to do that. I can't do it. Can you understand that? I can't let my mom be gone.