Attention, CICADA community!
- It’s time to say goodbye—the community at cicadamag.com is now closed. Learn more...
1 pointThe smell of Dirt and Dust Mixed with the Teasing smell of moss and crisp leaves Dance across your skin In a balled of playful wind Leaving my My soul Breathless As I take the plum from your palm With the promise of timeless years
1 pointI hope for night. In darkness no one can quite see the worst parts. I hope for quiet. Even when I'm all alone, I can still hear everyone else enjoying each others company. Outside the window the world is a canvas and I can see all of the beauty all the happy endings all the possibilities. But thats outside. I'm stuck in here. Where only words are only stories and stories are only words. In this city where dreams come true, Why aren't mine? If I haven't "made it" here, can I make it anywhere?
1 pointI feel as though I dropped my feelings on the ground Like a vase Possibly full of very small, elusive beans And now the pieces are everywhere! I'll probably never be able to pick them up Not in a million years of living And I'm too lazy to even try So i Just sit and sigh repeatedly on the floor tiles That may or may not be Spanish Depending on the time of day The only thing I want is to see my white blood cells darting back and forth When i stare into the sky This is probably why I don't have any friends. Oh well.