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WanderingMonster

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About WanderingMonster

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  1. the human state, 5 am

    Hello! I love the imagery in this and the way it flows.
  2. Some kind of metaphor

    She sings and the cigarette smoke Floats out from her lips to make a halo Around her mouse-brown hair. Her eyes glitter in the dim light Of the bar but I see behind them; She’s tired of this, of dancing on stage, The chipping paint on her nails from Reaching out to grab bills from weathered hands, Standing alone and singing the same song Over and over again. I look out the window at the colored rush of chaos And wonder what the world has come to, To make this woman burn her life away, Inside to out, to turn on mile-high heels To the beat of too-loud, tattered black speakers. I want to shake her awake from the pattern And tell her to leave it behind, but I’m here too, so there must be something to say For the Godforsaken stage and blinding lights. Through the haze of poison liquor I think Of how this is probably a metaphor For something, like ‘it’s too late To escape the monotony,’ but then The song ends, the woman bows, And I forget everything but the pounding, Thrumming, drumbeat heart of the city.
  3. The city’s all gone now, Shattered into sharpened points of glass, Warped pieces of rusted iron, And scattered metal screws. Burnt-out bulbs lie on the concrete, Empty of glow or even their memories, And I can’t help but shed a tear For all the years I’ve lost here in the tangle, Of tumbled monuments and Long forgotten airships that will never fly again. I remember the past and the apocalypse, The burning sky and the screeching gears, The fear we’d never make it out alive, But now everything’s silent. So I climb the crumbled towers And look out at the lost city. I breathe in the clean air, gaze up at the birds. They whirl above the wreckage And it no longer smokes; it’s green. Vines curl around the junk piles And flowers bow over the bent steel beams, Grass waves in the cracked cobblestone streets. The wind blows through the beech trees That grew from the ruin, And it’s beautiful. There is hope in the broken emptiness And sunlight shines down on the remains of a world That fell apart once but has been reborn.
  4. intro things :D

    Hello! I apologize for appearing here so late... Anywho, I’m Wandering Monster. I’m 17 years old and live in a small-ish college town the southeast. I’m a she/her pronouns sorta person, but I’m hardly feminine in the slightest. I’ve been writing stories for ages, but writing poetry is a recent thing I discovered and I love it. I’ve been reading the Slam for about a year (and reading Cicada since I was 14) but I only worked up the courage to start posting pieces a few months ago. Some things about me I guess? I’m kind of a Sci-Fi geek as well as an amateur artist. I love things like Owl City and Undertale and Night in the Woods [I relate to that game too much]. ..Also I’m really small and half of my hair spikes up so everyone refers to me as ‘hedgehog.’
  5. Exquisite Corpse, January Edition

    That while we were spinning, hearts racing comet-tail swift, it meant the world to you, too
  6. An ode to the weird kids

    You are dreamers, you’re wild, Trust me, I know. I was one of you once, A long time ago. I refused to grow up, I was strange, I was strong, Just like you, who will never belong Because you’re monsters And you wander the tangled roads. You outcasts, explorers, You search for lost treasure, Some fantasy Holy Grail. They all stare At you, like ticking clock faces. ‘Grow up, give up, you’re running out of time.’ But let me tell you something. When you wake up you’ll keep all this magic, On basement shelves, in clear crystal jars, and they’ll see it inside you too. You might hide it for a bit, but Don’t keep it away for too long. These thoughts are calling inside you, They pull your soul along lost pathways, Your heart over raging seas. So turn your cheek to the takers, Give up all your bright blinding words, Because you, the weird kids, are stronger than the rest. You’ll last longer, sing harder, Because it all means something to you.
  7. Exquisite Corpse, January Edition

    But I am made of chaos, of nebulas and multicolored beginnings
  8. The Flood

    The flood roared over us Like an unexpected hug, Heavy and sudden. I was swept under the briny tide. I squinted at the rush of sea, I breathed in the warm green water. Bubbles escaped from my eyes And I waited in the hissing silence, Patiently hoping to die. The minnows came and nibbled the tips of my toes, I brushed the backs of turtles with my hands, The starfish whispered ocean tales and Seaweed waved back at my tattered hair. In the dim blue light I looked at the sand And wondered when I would die. Luminous fish blinked in the dusk As the world darkened toward night. The flood waters ebbed, the current stilled. I came to rest on gentle whales. Their broad grey backs rose to the sky As sea lions called and seagulls soared And I asked my rippling reflection Why I could not die. Dawn came pink and salmon, Until the sun set once again. The moon shone white as silver And volcanoes climbed and fell. Clouds billowed through the cleanest air, The planet kept turning, fertile and gold, And I thought of all the stars I’d seen, All the stories of the great ice floes. As I remembered wonders as only time could tell, I realized I’d wished so hard to die While the sweeping tide tried to bring me to life.
  9. sharp and beautiful

    Great imagery and I really like the last line - it’s powerful
  10. Escape

    You must escape, The world ends tonight. Get out of the dark and the crumble, The tumbled down houses And sulfur-cracked streets. Run away from the smoke, The noise of the fight, The din and the pain And the fire. Don’t look back, Just get out of the city. Rush through the forest And slip through the creek. You’ll make it to rivers and Ancient pine trees and the North. It’s still wild there, Mysterious and free. Wolves roam in the silence, Owls soar in the breeze. Dawn suns still rise there Over the mountains And wind blows strong and clean. You can whisper there, Yell loud as you can And no one will hear For the clouds lie low And snow falls and fog Masks the calls of the loons. There’s room to run and keep away From the city. Watch the moon rise and Wish for grass to curl Around the metal, The broken world of the city. Dream of moss blankets And frost dusted fields, Of falling leaves and Leaving the end of the world Behind. You must disappear Into the hills and the sky As we near the end. It’s time to go back to the woods.
  11. Icarus

    If I flew too close to the sun Would the wax in my wings melt And would the feathers drift apart And float slowly down to rest on the ocean As I plummeted through the soulless waves? If I raced too fast through the wind Would the breeze tear my heartstrings And leave me hanging breathless and alone in the sky? And if I tried to swim, To catch my breath above the sea, Would the weight of my thoughts drag me down To the ancient stones Where the foolish sleep with the Gods? It takes too long to struggle back up; I will sink into the sand and just Stare at the blue air high above As a few last bubbles of breath rise To bring my spirit to the surface.
  12. After Bedtime

    At night the beds turned into islands and we flew above them like we were stars. We scaled bedpost trees and leaped into the worn little yarn-rug sea. We soared between the islands, fingers brushing the waving grass, and often crashed, giggling, to the ground below. Pillow-clouds flew between us and we screamed as pretend thunderstorms blew us across the room. My sister was a hot-air balloon, floating serene in the sky like she was meant to be there. My brother, he was an airplane, fierce and fast and loud. I was always a dragon, free and wild above the patched quilt farmlands and bed-gap oceans. Tonight, after Momma turned the warm yellow light off, kissed each of our foreheads, and closed the door, we threw the curtains open so the moonlight could shine in and turned the bedroom back into the whole world. “The beds are Venice tonight,” my sister informed us. “You can’t fall in the canals because there are monsters.” “Are there airplanes in Venice?” Our little brother wondered. We told him that yes, there were big planes that flew over the town every day, but I knew that Lily had chosen Venice because there were more hot air balloons there than dragons or planes. It was her turn to choose though, so I didn’t protest. We began jumping, keeping our voices and laughs quiet so our parents wouldn’t wake up and tell us to go to sleep because we’d be tired in the morning. We leaped across canals and onto the flat roofs of the ancient, sleeping city. Imaginary clotheslines fluttered in the breeze left in our wake and the sleeping residents of the city never guessed that three adventurers soared above their heads. Once, I fell into the dark, slow moving water between the old, colorful houses of the town. I had to scream and struggle, because that’s what you do when you get eaten by monsters. I didn’t tell my siblings that dragons were monsters too, or that the creatures probably would’ve accepted me as one of their own. Nathaniel laughed and pulled me up again; we let him rescue us because he liked to be the hero. Eventually, we got bored of flying over canals, so we ferried across on pillow rafts piloted by stuffed animals. Lily opened a shop on her bed, her part of the city. She sold us jewelry and trinkets that we already owned in real life, but in this nighttime world, everything was new and interesting. The moon climbed higher in the sky and stars blinked on as we explored the city together: a hot air balloon, an airplane, and a dragon. “I want to sleep now.” Nathaniel yawned, clambering up from a yellow pillow onto his bed, pulling the R2-D2 printed sheets up around his shoulders. “The clock-tower says it’s late.” We looked up at the little clock ticking silently on the blue sky wall. I couldn’t read it fast enough, so Lily informed me that it was 10:27. “I’m sleepy too,” I agreed, collapsing onto my down comforter. “I bet dragons go to bed at 10:30.” Lily smiled, picking her pillow up from the floor. “Okay, bedtime it is.” “What will our bedroom be tomorrow?” Nathaniel murmured, already half asleep. I reached over to the window, pulling the curtains closed. The room darkened around us and as I flapped and folded my dragon wings, I thought of castles and mountain caves and wide open fields for flying. “I have an idea.”
  13. A Message to the Foxes

    Fennec fox: We were the neighborhood children; travelers, warriors, wanderers, fae, heroes, fighters. You were sunshine; golden, warm, lighthearted, as if you were the living morning. I almost remember your laughter. We were littermates, the four of us, straw-yellow and young, too innocent for what was to come. You ran away on pitter-patter feet and I miss you like I miss the hikes we took when the leaves were falling all around us. Your jaws snapped shut around my little heart; I think you were the first one to break it. I know it was an accident, but I healed slower the first few times. Arctic fox: We grew up together, wild and young, misunderstanding the way the world worked. You were swift, running at something you had to catch, snow-fur streaming as I tried to keep up behind you. You were cold, always frigid, dark like winter, so when any light shone through I was whole. They didn’t trust you; your sharp face, white paws, blizzard soul. But you and I, we could’ve grown old in the frost-blanket fields, listening to owls cry and watching stars blink above us. Then you taught me to hate only myself and gave me my first taste of reality. At least I’m grateful for it. Island fox: I look up to you, you once-friend, the one with wise thoughts. You were like me, but braver. You were small, lithe, chestnut brown and streaked with silver, clever; someone who’s seen it all. You were smart, wily, full of life and we were explorers, out in the forest where no one else could go. We shared tree branches and navigated the little creek, untamed and free. We promised under the hanging leaves to be friends forever. I didn’t know forever could be so small, and I don’t know why you turned so human and left me behind. I’m still here, as always. Red fox: I didn’t think I was able to love until there was you. You were burning red-orange and hearth-fire and I was warmed back to life after a long time feeling frozen. I was full of that fire, falling too far into flocks of dragons and bright sunlight. You were afraid to be alone; I was scared to be lonely. You were wild and exciting and trapped; you wanted to escape and I was the only one there to leave behind. I’m still full of that love you gave me; flames, hopes, dreams for you, for all the other foxes around us. Now you’re gone, rust-colored fur fading from my mind, and maybe the embers are dimming, but I can’t seem to let them die. Grey fox: You might never grow up, find the freedom you used to daydream of as the sun rose over those weathered mountains. Child, you’re shy, too wild to be contained. I kept promising you that I couldn’t let it happen again, that I wouldn’t try anymore, but then I did. It was still the same cycle of loving and loss, and now you are empty. I never meant to do this to you, to steal your joy away. Now you go through motions and I think you’ve forgotten how to love. You keep putting your little paws forward, not stopping to sleep or save yourself. Your soul is wearing thin these days, you’re numb, green eyes weary and Dull with greyscale thoughts, all hope gone. It’s my fault. I’m sorry. Author's Note: This is a piece I posted on the old Slam, but since then I've reworked and improved it a bit. I was once given a writing prompt that suggested comparing your moment(s) of greatest pain to an animal... This is my rather modified result.
  14. Panicked Playing/ Playing for Freedom

    I really like this poem - the way the words sound next to each other, the imagery. I especially like 'The Sniffles of Wings sliding back into place' line.
  15. The Hunt

    She didn’t care much about the hunt anymore. She just kept it up out of habit. I was wild and free and lonely. The forest was bustling, with thousands of creatures that called my name in curiosity. She lived in a daydream, one bright morning following the next. I watched each sunrise for something new and wonderful. She was tired and I was full of life. The animals feared her bow and they whispered warnings to me as I lay in the trees at night. She feared nothing, not even the largest of beasts. Through the passing of days I watched her wander through the woods. She was alone; I was lonely. Once, I called out to her as the bright sun dappled the moss carpet green and gold. She was beautiful, with sun-warmed hair like flames and wolfberries, but her green eyes were empty - I found no hope in them. She looked back at me with the same amount of wonder that I had for her. She seemed to marvel at me - my beastlike stance and my inquisitive stare, my dark, wild eyes and tousled wind-ruffled hair. “Hello,” she whispered in a voice quiet from disuse. Slowly, she put down her carved oak bow and reached out a hand to me. I reached back, and as our hands touched, one soft and pale, the other dark and strange, I conveyed all the meanings I had for her in my own words, the language of the forest. She seemed to understand. She stared back into my creature eyes and then down at the bow. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” She whispered. “My sisters have moved on. My hunt should be over.” I nodded as she stared at the trees around her as if for the first time. Stop hunting the beasts. I ~the forest~ said. “What else can I do?” She wondered, looking down with sadness at the bow and the life she needed to leave behind. Stay here. I offered. No more killing, just living. Watching. She seemed to ponder this, gazing around again at the wild green tangle of home and freedom. You are hopeless. I whispered. Find it here. “I am not accustomed to peace.” She lamented. “I have always hunted the forest’s creatures. Isn’t it too late to change?” I didn’t answer her question because neither of us knew. In this forest the beasts watch the sun rise and set, the storms come and go. We drink from clear streams and sleep in tree hollows under firefly stars. We are a part of the woods. “I am a part of the fields, the mountains. I am hunter, you are hunted.” The hunt is not part of you. I pointed out. It is gone. She turned to look at me again, and my heart beat like that of a frightened rabbit. Stay here, live in the forest. End the hunt, become free. She paused, thinking and remembering her old life. I waited. Then she smiled and took my hand. I grinned too, leading her through the forest as she left her bow, and the hunt, behind and didn’t look back.
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