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Everything posted by WanderingMonster

  1. The Storm

    The lightbulbs flickered. I jumped and stared out the window of my flat. The sky was heavy and dark, filled with ominous purple clouds. Distant ‘BOOM’s echoed faintly through the air. The wind picked up and I watched it tug at the brightly colored flags that hung from the buildings. The buildings were tall, taller than baobabs, and brown, the color of desert monuments, conical in shape with a plethora of circular windows. They were laid out in a seemingly random order, with the streets winding confusingly in between. I wished I didn’t have to live in this ugly city, but my new job demanded it. The wind picked up its pace, howling and hissing through the electrically charged air. The people below me on the streets disappeared into doors, leaving colored cloth and market stalls behind. I shuddered as the sky split open, sending bullet-drops of rain at the window. The wind was gusting so hard now that flags flew through the air and lantern posts on the streets below crashed to the ground. I hoped my window wouldn’t shatter. A knock came at my door then, calm and sharp. I opened it to see the apartment complex’s owner, a thin man with purple robes and a curled mustache, standing at my door. “I wanted to welcome you to Windy City.” He smiled, as if nothing was wrong. “Oh, and a slight storm is coming.” I stared. How was he not afraid that this building would crash down around us? “You’re new to this city,” My landlord observed. “Do not be afraid. The storms come and go and are a part of our life here.” I looked through the blue-glass window. The wind swirled around the irregular buildings and out of the city. Their conical structure kept them from moving even the slightest. The rain ran through the pathways and pooled in wells and gardens. The thunder resonated with the movement of the trees. It was beautiful. After the landlord left I watched the storm intensify and then fade away. Soon, people surged back into the streets and resumed their lives. A rainbow painted itself over the purple sky. I cracked open my window and hung a little flag of my own over the sill. Windy City was wild and wonderful and interconnected and I was welcome.
  2. On the weight of my words

    I want to say something important, something that belongs with all the wondering, questioning eloquent words in the world, but all I write is monsters and trees and it seems childish now that I think about it.
  3. lost monsters

    The monsters under the mountain are angry tonight, Calling and wandering and lost, Wondering where their souls are. I want to bring them back, I think, Into the grass covered hills and standing stones, The ancient, rune carved rocks and foggy moors. Like ghosts, they don’t belong here, but They don’t deserve to drift into the darkness. Just like us, they need to be found and remembered. If I lay my hand flat against the stones I can feel them humming, Thrumming with underground mystery. Under the mist I can hear the monsters And they want to get out, tear their way Up from the caverns and look at the stars Because they’re less far away if you’re free. So I sing a song I was taught once About light and leaving the dark behind and then The monsters crawl out of the mountains And into the trees, hiding away from a world Neither they nor I can understand. I can’t call them down So I climb up the bending branches and Hook my claws into the bark, curl my tail Around the trunks and stare up at the sky We all wish we could reach. I don’t find the monsters around me Strange anymore, we’re too similar For nervous fear and mistrust; We’re all motley, colored and confused, A mess of paws and wings and ink. Our eyes glow at the edge of the blackness And we watch the world turn below, Without us, because up here We’re not monsters anymore, just alive.
  4. Lioness

    I’ve never written you a poem. You don’t lend yourself to words, you see; You’re too strong, an oak To the little willow tree I am And I don’t know how to write a poem For a silent, seething mountain, A girl who could go volcano And fly in a fury to send vengeance Upon those who dare upset Her scattered equilibrium. No one writes poems for the lioness, Headstrong and stubborn And already too proud For calming words and coming into being. You’re the protector, the badass, the ‘I’ll drop kick you across the whole city If you mess with my sister,’ Who can still be a warrior While wearing a dress. I can’t be eloquent about A lightsaber fighting spitfire, Grumpy in the mornings And spouting sass all afternoon. It’s too hard; my poems are supposed To be soft and gentle but you Have always been powerful, Serious and stoic Until suddenly you say something To get us all laughing. And my poetry, too, is about eloquence But you and I don’t often talk with words, We speak with expressions and thoughts and hands, With random inside jokes and stories. That’s why I’ve never written you a poem before, Because you’re more important to me Than any words I know.
  5. Stuck in Possum Springs

    It’s like being stuck in Possum Springs, In a changing town and a dying church, A fading life and an aging world. The stores on Main Street are closing, Have you seen it? It’s all small here, hidden away, so There’s no escape from the people; They all know me, They all know what I’ve done. They won’t forget and I won’t leave Because I love it here, The childhood I never outgrew. And we’re all broken here, Together and alone, The dust swirls as everyone moves on, And I’m too naive So I keep hurting them, Saying the wrong thing. It’s precarious, walking these telephone wires, Looking up at the stars. And Mae, she was a violent child, And me, I was a monster. Bea, she can’t see a good future anymore And I can’t find hope. And Selmers, she writes the empty away; We are poets, the both of us, Writing about this weird Autumn Where I came home for a while. But it’s night in the woods now And there are spirits in my dreams, A Whatever-god who tells me It’s too late for us because The forest god is gone. It’s the end of everything and I’m trying to hold on. So Greg, you get out while you still can But I don’t think I will die anywhere else. Author's Note: This is a poem inspired by the indie game Night In The Woods. (It's a story-based game with lots of dialogue and it's art. Also it's kinda heartbreaking but it's so good) Also it relates to my life a little too closely so I wrote a poem about it
  6. Overheard Quotes

    My friend works in our town's rescue squad and her team says some pretty random things so here are some good ones: "Why do you have a cow spine?" "You're not in squad issued uniform!" "I don't care, it's dysfunctional Thursday." "Do fish hibernate?" "Bacteria can be male or female??" "Kroger starts with K. I find that morally wrong." "You can't control me! I'll come at you like a spider monkey!" "Want some vomit pants?"
  7. South Wind

    It was September When you said you were leaving. I remembered last spring, the way you showed up out of the snow, promising light and warmth And adventure, And I believed you. It was wonderful, for a while; The world was different and wild and colorful And the sun stayed out longer, The skies were brighter Until they weren’t anymore. Your words pulled on my heartstrings, A warning that winter was coming. The sun started to set and I didn’t escape the cold until April came again but By then it didn’t hurt that you had gone. The world revolved, once, And I was entirely whole by May; Even though spring came late this time It was gentler than the last.
  8. Exquisite Corpse: April 2018

    and gaze with wonder for the sky is ours.
  9. The thing about hope

    Hope’s a funny thing. Sometimes it’s bubbles, like sunlight and flying And sometimes it bashes you into the rocks far below. It’s all a cycle, endless searching and finding and losing and doing it over again. I don’t know why people keep trying to get up after they fall, For the ground is steady beneath my feet And I don’t feel the world spin from down here. But then my brain says ‘stay awake, keep trying, Keep fighting, for when you plummet, it means The time before it was worth it all.’ I want to tell my mind I’m tired of this, That I don’t want to hurt anymore, But it keeps holding on to hope, those summer breezes And lavender butterflies, bright stained-glass and dreams. I’ve tried countless times to get it to stop But it won’t and it seems I’ll keep suffering. Is rose-colored, ember sparked to life, Heart beating rapid adrenaline rush Even worth burnt lips and aching fingers, Wrists striped red at the end of the road? I can’t pretend to know. That’s the thing about hope; It’s floating, holding on every time I manage to climb back from the abyss again And maybe it won’t end because I need it Just as much as I need you.
  10. Fireflies

    Sometimes I think you’re like the fireflies My friends and I caught on summer evenings When we were barely old enough to speak. There was always something wild and strange About holding a living, ethereal glow in our hands. I taught them to flatten their palms, Let the lightning bugs alight on little fingers Before flitting away into the night air. When you flew away too, I held my hands open. I wonder, now, if I should have cupped them closed.
  11. November

    You confuse me. I can’t understand How, on the outside, you’re cold and strange, Arctic fox and ice shards in the snow fields, Frost dusted stones and frozen lakes beneath Rime coated pine trees. And then you hold out your hands to me; Suddenly it’s warmth like autumn, Like oaks and orange leaves, Like cinnamon and nutmeg And November. When you hold me for those brief, hidden moments It feels like embers and I forget how Your words are winter winds and your blizzard soul Chills me to the bone. All of that is gone With your arms around me, Sunset colored and comforting. I’ve never really been good at describing love, But I think it’s like you, like that moment When winter and fall are one, When fjord blue eyes meet mine And campfires flicker around us And you just stay here, with me, And it's November. Author's Note: This is probably cliché and ohlook I've fallen in love with a childhood friend.
  12. Why do we march?

    This is so powerful - the first number 6 especially. (Speaking of which, numbers 5 and 6 repeat.)
  13. Plea for help

    I know this is likely a repeat of advice you've heard countless times before, but this place: National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-SUICIDE (784-2433) 
(24 hours) Is a good (also it's anonymous) number to use if you're ever considering something like suicide. The Slam is full of kind people, and even though I don't know any of them personally, they're all really awesome and respectful and constructive. I recommend joining the Discord - if you haven't already - if you want to talk to everyone more frequently. This community is great because everyone is here for everyone else. You can talk to me, too. I can't promise I'll give good advice, but I'll listen.
  14. Overheard Quotes

    "That's not a shark, it's a penguin!"
  15. The Old Farm

    You know those old farm houses? The ones out on Meadowbrook Road Behind the briar bushes and mulberry trees? There’s a couple buildings that have tumbled to the ground, But I’ve found some that still stand there, in the waving grass. They’ve lasted for who-knows-how long And the wood planks are rotting but something About the cracked concrete and shattered windows Makes it beautiful, in a woodsy, haunting sort of way. When it’s morning, or the middle of the day The sun shines on the little lake there And slants in through the holes in the sheet metal ceilings. I like to stand in the middle of the dusty floors And look at the paintings on the walls. There’s one with a mermaid, and another That says ‘find true love.’ I didn’t find it there, In the summer park with the rusting cars, The soaring, skylight silos, the eroded creek. I didn’t find it in the ancient trees Or the tiny hidden graveyard With the weathered marble stones carved with maple leaves, But I did find something close to home there, Beneath the pines and the strange circle of stones. I felt the ghosts of a long ago time in those fields And they weren’t lost or sad, they were just peaceful.
  16. american purgatory

    I love this poem and its imagery. (Also I've lived in the southeast countryside all my life and I still feel terrified by it.)
  17. Dreams

    Oh this is great! I have so many weird dreams. I dreamed once that I was scuba diving with this group of people; we were exploring and we found this underwater sunken ship, but there was air inside and it was really well lit, and there were pink, flowered plants growing in the sunlight inside it. We were for some reason really excited that it was an old launching point for submarines. There were some ancient, rusty subs docked in the bottom. We had taken off all our gear in the air pocket, but for some reason we had to put it on again AFTER we went back out into the water... so we had to hold our breath while swimming and trying to put our gear on. And then we had to go back into the ship because there were still some people in it (they left their air tanks there or something). Then it mysteriously started sinking farther into the sea and taking on water, so we all ran out of the ship. Also I think I dreamed this all from the point of view of my mother.
  18. Zombie Girl

    Zombie Girl is in the bathroom again when I walk in. She’s always there, standing in front of the last sink next to the tampon dispensers pretending to fix her hair. She watches me through the mirror as I enter the stall in the corner, the one the light doesn’t reach, the one no one’s supposed to look at. I try to avoid glancing at her as I slip in and out of the cafeteria restrooms each lunch period each day. I don’t know Zombie Girl’s real name, but she must know me. She haunts the neighborhood next to mine and glares resentfully at me as she steps onto the bus on cold mornings when I can’t walk the mile or so to school. She whispers things three seats behind me to an old, forsaken friend of mine and I curl up so my head can’t be seen over the back of my row. She stares balefully when I pass her in the halls. I wonder if I wronged her in a past life, or maybe a long time ago when we were children and I just can’t recall. Zombie Girl is grey, with a doughy, definitely-not-alive face and dull eyes. I think maybe she wants to eat someone’s soul and her sluggish zombie instincts have led her to me. She is strange, angry at a world that dares to include me in it, and I can’t help skulking fearfully away whenever she walks by. A few days pass and Zombie Girl still finds herself in the bathroom at the same time as me. I tell my sister about this, slightly worried. My sister doesn’t know or remember her either. She tells me it’s probably nothing, that Zombie Girl just gives that expression to everyone else, too. “Maybe she’s just tired. Maybe you’re imagining it.” I try to listen to her advice. I lay low and begin to convince myself that her sour expression isn’t meant for me. Then a friend of mine sends me a text. ‘Wanna know something weird? There’s this girl at Mason’s lunch table who absolutely hates you.” I’m taken aback, confused about who it might be, about why that might be. 'She keeps ranting about you, saying things about how nasty you are. She seems convinced that you’re a player just because you dated her ex.' I’m mildly uncomfortable now, to say the least. He gives me a name I can put a face to and I put two and two together with a little help from last year’s yearbook. Zombie Girl’s emotionless grin glares back at me from the little colored photo. I don’t know what to do, so I sit there and stare at it and try not to freak out. I try to stop the irrational thoughts flowing through my brain. You know what gossip can do to a person’s reputation. I don’t have much of a reputation, so I tell myself that everything’s fine. I have friends who know me better than a creepy zombie girl’s word. I push down my worries, convince myself that opinions are okay, that maybe she thinks I’m mean because she’s just jealous. It’s finally enough to stop the fear. So I go back to school knowing, at least, why Zombie Girl stares hatefully at me. If there’s a reason, I tell myself, it’s less creepy. When I walk into the bathroom at lunch, as always, Zombie Girl comes in a few minutes later. I wonder how long she’ll keep up this baleful glaring, expending the energy to be furious at me. I wonder when something will change. But instead of saying anything, I avoid her gaze, hide my nervous mistrust, act natural, keep going, because apparently I have to live with Zombie Girl’s anger now. I’ve never really been good at those post-apocalyptic survival games, though.
  19. The deer and the mouse

    You’re tiny, eyes wide, Timid like a grey mouse, Small, sweet, someone I would normally never Fall in like with but Now? I’m a Deer in the headlights, Heart beating fast-bright With wonder and something strange. It’s like wind on the back fields Out the window of the Chemistry classroom, I feel like the hawks out there that soar In the breeze, But you are the bluebird, too delicate For me and my wild power. I wish you were strong enough to Stay still, but you might flit away If I tell, hide in the branches, Never come down, and I am afraid to lose you Still, I’m determinedly trying With you; shy, faintly smiling Next to me, to be brave enough To say that I might love you.
  20. Overheard Quotes

    "We could make a massive stir fry!"
  21. The Floating City

    She is a warrior, Clad in golden armour and confidence, A shining sword at her side. She is beautiful and wild And she will try to save this floating city, Stop it from falling, crashing to the ground. She is a knight, almost holy In the sunlight and fire. She’s fighting beside a lover, Serving a king behind walls. Failure is not an option As she chases down demons and thieves; Even their arrows don’t hurt her now. She is a savior, braver Than we’ll ever be, But as I stumble to the edge, Step out over the clouds far below, I know; although she’ll keep struggling, Fighting until she, too, can no longer stand, Someday she has to let go, Plummeting, Tumbling into the sky like the rest of us And when she falls All that will be left of that crumbling city Will be a lonely king And the end of a dream.
  22. Overheard Quotes

    “Well, I’m being attacked by a tissue box.”
  23. home-grown rebellion

    I love this poem! Especially:
  24. I'm Tired of This

    Thank you ^-^