Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Reece Jun 11
One day, I met the Wendigo,
It told me things that I’d rather not have known.
My family asked me, “Where did it go?”
Who was I to tell?
It visited me later that night,
It gave me quite a fright,
It said, “Scream and I guarantee you won’t survive!”
So I closed my mouth and didn’t dare rebel.
It told me,
“People hunt what they don’t understand,
They can’t even decide who they want to be.
They act like they have this massive plan,
But in reality, they’re afraid of becoming a nobody like me!”
I asked meekly,
“What do you mean?”
It snarled its teeth,
And said to me,
“Some people believe that identity,
Is solely based on how they feel.
But it also has to do with society,
And the people they are around,
And how they are seen,
Not just what they believe.
They think that they can hide,
From the person they try to bury,
Under estranged beliefs,
So they consume whoever they see,
Who doesn’t believe their facade,
And they become like me.”
The Wendigo left,
Quiet as a mouse.
I set up on my bed,
And contemplated the truth I found.
I am me,
But when I talk down to myself,
Try to believe I’m worth less than everyone else,
That isn’t my identity,
That’s an askew belief.
Identity isn’t solely based on me…
A more metaphorical poem than I usually do, but I wanted to branch out a little.
Tap, tap, tap, upon the windows frame,
scratch, scratch, scratch, upon the door it came,
I hear the scraping on the cabin floor outside my door,
I hear the hooves as they loudly fall and,
the heavy breathing not that far at all,
but when the little girls voice does come from behind my door,
she does say please kind sir,
be a friend and let me in, so i can get my doll.
The smell of fowl milk and trash does waft across the midnight breeze, and then I hear the scream,
as I realize I forgot to lock the bedroom door,
and that was the last night I was evermore.
Written by Micheal Robert Triska in 2023
Raven Feb 2020
Deep inside a forest
Hushed whispers can be heard
A creature of humanity bereft
Has got the nightlife quite disturbed

Eyes as black as blood
Reflect in the moonlight
Bare feet buried in mud
A sharp smile widened in delight

Skin pitch black
Leather to the touch
Antlers on its head
A stag in its clutch

Sharp claws caressing its snout
An unusual couple
There never was a doubt
That the stag would either
Bustle, shuffle, struggle or buckle
Instead it muzzled, nuzzles, cuddles and snuggles
All the while the creature subtle chuckles

Blending into darkness
Ready to strike and attack
You can feel each others fondness
Of him and the black feathered stag
neth jones Apr 2019
run revel, run **** and run riot
after the work week
thirsty work
hashed together venges
and business pleasures exceed
to mature into vigorous crime

with the rights
this fit night have given
the office population clamber up their fears
and violently
cram their senses

fist feast your mouther
raw-torn with surplus
a Wendigo playground
go beast upon this crown
this fawn
this chalking morgue

                          - a bellyful
A Babal Tolls verse ?  Formaldyhyde Jar Baby
Anthony Perry Jan 2016
Coagulated blood dried out from the sun, footprints pressed into the mud from a night on the run, chased and ravaged, pressed against a tree with emotions gutted.

Mutilated and dying, I'm laying under falling stars, saturated skies and underlying scars, every conversation with you feels like being run over by a highway full of cars.

Blood screaming from a cautourised wound travels farther than your ability to listen to reason, wide eyed, your pasteurized white eyes seem cold but searing like the flesh of a steaming heathen.

Necrosis sets in on the heaping pile of me drudged upon the roots of my personification, watch the black blood slipping through the dirt like molasses as it climbs over your teeth and grips the lips before it passes, blood loss is creating a hallucination.

Watch as I become hollow from your cannibalistic lifestyle. Your desperation, human flesh you defiled, mindless separation, our family's bodies stuffed in a corner and piled, you became a Wendigo, a wicked transmorgification.

— The End —