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Showing most liked content since 08/20/18 in all areas

  1. 6 points
    today is brought to you by the physical act of remembering. & remembering is a swandive from a cliff: you choose when to jump, or youre shoved, or the ground decides it's time & crumbles. but freefall is the shortest purgatory a living thing can experience & you might tell yourself this was a mistake, that hurtling into the expansive, apathetic blue of the sea would render you something ended. something breathless & floating. the headfirst weightlessness & regret & solid hope & wishing hard for what was always leaves a hole in your chest when nostalgia bites. then comes the water. the cold crashes into you like a freight train & you are something mournful. something wanting. grieve the past & things that were. honor them. important things will stick. you can make homes like you can make apples: from seed to sapling & maybe in a few years youve earned fruit, or a kind of belonging. a home is never more than a house plus memories. & this home may succumb to worms, or wood rot, or real estate, & you might package up remembering & leave it in your attic, but attics are made to be forgotten & rediscovered. this is its magic. learning how to remember is a little spellbinding thing & the first time you spiral: you loop & spin & widen & suddenly that attic is the most important thing you have ever tasted. remembering is roses, or at least tinted pink. never mind the worms. never mind the rot. this home lives in recollection, & souls, & the attics of new homes. important things will stick.
  2. 3 points
    This is my last update before the slam dies for good. I had a great time on here and I'll be thinking of y'all forever.
  3. 3 points
    you leave suddenly like a brick pulling out from beneath me didn't realize how this would feel i followed my life like i follow stories until i snapped back to reality at the very end of it and it's harder when pain hits all at once. i have grown used to you building me up, making me laugh when i couldn't breathe, you made that feeling better texts coming in a couple times a day even if i don't have the time to make my responses do much more than suck, usually didn't know how to fathom the way you would vanish i wobble as my world tilts like a jenga tower with one brick pulled out i did not realize how it would feel to be left reaching for something beyond your emptiness you made me feel tall beautiful, happy, loved and seen. did you intend to do that? should not have called this happiness mine because you gave it to me all of this never could have happened if you hadn't built me up i wish i could have thanked you said something found true, constant words for what you mean before i felt the void of your shape stable and aching unfillable by anything but what is past out the window wish something could take me back to memories that some days i just want to bury myself in rather than face a shaky present before we the part was final barely holding i became highly acquainted with memory i think love is not just noticing when something is there but feeling all the moments when it is gone because you meant something something i stood upon. This is for a lot of people, but part of this is about Cicada closing down. I know I haven't been posting long, but thank you Cicada for giving me a place to post my writing where people I don't even know can see it. I've sort of grown used to how wacky and creative this place is, and normal, physical life is orderly and rule-following and nothing like that. Before now, the only people who read my work was basically my mum. And the occasional interested relative or teacher. I know I'm not that important here, but it still feels good to read through the view numbers on my poems, and feel like someone has read my work. I was afraid to start posting when I signed up in February, but I wish I could have started posting sooner. @bluebird , @The Invincible Troodon, @WanderingMonster, thank you for liking my work (and if there's anyone I'm forgetting, thank you too). All the people who showed up as views and didn't like: thank you for reading it. Even if you didn't like it--even in spirit, rather than in digital reaction, the fact that you took the time to read it means something to me. I don't know if any of you care, but in case you do, I'm going to keep posting on the Cicada 3.0 website after I can't post here any longer (cicadamagarchive.home.blog) by the same username.
  4. 3 points
    I've never quite... belonged anywhere. Even here I was a little bit distant, on the edge of something bigger because I was too shy to talk to you. (I'm sorry) Even so, this place was like home, wild and weird and wonderful. I'm trying to write something final, worthwhile, but all I can think of is that I never cry but sometimes, almost... I know everything comes to an end, I just wasn't prepared. Sometimes I wish I'd been braver, been here longer, said something nice. I guess I wanted to say thanks for having me, it's been fun. I got to write what I wanted, (or needed maybe) learned to love poetry even more than forests or stars. I've said goodbye enough times, but I'm still not sure what to say. I'm not sure if anything will be enough. So. All of you are amazing and I'm glad I found you, Cicada. I'll miss this strange, lovely place. farewell then, Wandering Monster
  5. 2 points
    im definitely going to miss the hell out of this site. i dont know if it's closing midnight on the 14th or midnight the 15th, but either way im getting my goodbyes to the site in now. jess, sonder, archea, queenie, and i are trying to make a new cicada so we can have a new home for our poetry, but this definitely holds a special place in my heart. i came out as trans here first, and was accepted as i was wholeheartedly. getting to know everyone in the discord has honestly been the highlight of my summer and i have no idea what id do without everyone. being published a few times in the cicada issues was something to be proud of, and im glad i got to share that with everyone here. cicada is where i found my poetic voice. im so, so sad that this has to end. ive written quite a few goodbye posts in my time, but ive gotten attached to the community here. all the users and the admins and autumn and all the artists made this publication feel welcoming. in all honesty, i dont know if i would have survived my early teenage years if i hadnt found poetry and art. thank you so much to everyone for sharing their writing with me, too. thank you for the rp threads, and the feedback on my work, and thank you for putting yourselves out there too. thank you to the admins at cicada for giving us a new site and a chance to connect with each other. thank you for giving us 20 years of an amazing literary magazine, and thank you for listening and interacting with us. we owe it to you guys for maintaining this community. to everyone: thank you and goodbye.
  6. 2 points
    they taught me how to snuff out the aching, glowing life i found in the way sun looks on clear water with laughing comments and rolls of eyes i have been embittered in realism forced upon me (as though reality was their to shape) a certain, soulless reality defined by false science limited to what we know in this moment (which is the idea of science, really) i was taught to be afraid to voice the magical way light dances on water clouds swoop across clear sky an infinite sample of the universe within meters of my feet in scattered rocks we take for granted but right now i am glowing inside, i swear and it makes me feel like that flat reality holds no limit on my words.
  7. 2 points
    trees cup the seemingly endless road to me it is primal and lonely especially now, when it is framed by sun-paint sky and sharp hills angle up from the road with clumps of grass reaching up on either side i know them from a passing distance those hills hold my daydreams slipping away as i look out the window, wondering as i go somewhere i will reach in another life, approaching another land far away from here and now if i don’t look at the clock time dissolves into no measured meaning beyond that in my head what must it have been like to walk the fifteen kilometre distance in a time before cars? an endless well-known stretch of uncaring land (whereas i have the choice to opt out of knowing for my own sanity whether that is right or wrong) perhaps it would seem different if i were the driver but i have almost-freedom in the cold, still passenger’s side before i arrive at another day of my life, school, an eventual change of seating in this car again, a car of my own and a tax bill and a house i can’t stop from coming but right now i am not there i am here i am now i am tired of trying to cast myself ahead
  8. 2 points
    . iam hiding leather over soft flesh in sweet origami smiles laughs and neat outfits closet doubtful misfitting artistic scientist scientific artist closet seer of things i know you don’t think are fit for my eyes closet dirty mouth (and too fucking bad) closet confused everything-at-once person trying to find herself logically honestly, i am many other things i just highlighted in blue and backspaced maybe i should be braver than this— closets are where you can close the door and no one will come looking for you inside those doors i am angry and bitter crabapple don’t always believe in hope and prosperity pain maybe you understand that it’s hard to grasp you might like this person this way i’m not good at being detached from people like that. trapped in kindness i give out smiles and noncommittal answers (i’m either an amazing actress or a terrible one) sometimes, when you see me under the normal halfway-light it just feels wrong and i don’t know how to fix that. but something is lost when my parts are segregated one dark and one illuminated it only simmers worse as i linger screaming silently god knows what i want god knows who i am invisible; laughable i explode on the people i trust to hold it inevitably. i think i have to be seen by someone. maybe this poem needs a happier ending explaining personal growth in a creative conformity but— i’m not here or there i’m just on and off, still thinking trying, somewhere. i think i want to be seen by someone as what i really am, before lost in these lines i lose sight of it.
  9. 2 points
    if you’re me you know how to milk praise easily you know that love comes in two paths easy and hard easy praise is the kind with no risk pretty; nice boots; mature and professional you’ll do well for the rest of high school i look so destined for a job in actuarial sciences or information technology (sounds like misery in good payment, although before i knew myself it appealed to me) i know how to find safety in 98.3% instruction-following certainty excellence was a command not a decision for panic attacks, tears and boredom i receive good grades (they’re not the same thing when i disagree) but even when i try to make them into solid glowing matter they are still forwarded to the inbox of a phantom representing who someone else wishes i could be the phantom is now dead except on the outside with the encouragement it grows the truth fades for a moment and then comes back in fury but there’s another kind of praise that comes with rejection but also being seen the hard compliments make my heart skip a beat the world dissolves into vibrations they’re not dependable or perfect but they feel, for now like matter belonging to me.
  10. 2 points
    I’m scared to log out. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to sign in again. These past few years have been amazing, and even if I never talked to you or commented on your writing, I read it. And I enjoyed it. I enjoyed having a space where I didn’t have to worry about anything. And the space outside of here can be scary, but it’s out there for all of us. We can do this. We’re strong. I love you all so much. You know more about me than I ever imagined I would tell you. For those who see this and can’t respond, goodbye. For those who can, see you soon. —queenie out (for real, this time)
  11. 2 points
    saltwater ocean storm roaring i split apart into dissolving pieces dry slowly cracking land heaving breath fills silent air nothing feels the same anymore just emptiness delicate afraid of the burns cuts scrapes bruises i pull myself in seedlings softness startling laughter welds me back into one solid piece until i fall again.
  12. 2 points
    We don’t have to miss each other, just this site. Just this amazing chaos pit of creative people willing to share their words with the world (or, at least this corner of the internet.) @hayfevered, @Short_comedian, and I have made a temporary unofficial cicada 3.0 for anyone who’d like to stop by. It’s like the old site in an admin-run sort of way. This thing we’ve created here doesn’t have to end. Not if we can help it. @Autumn, you alongside the rest of Cicada have given us a place to let our voices be heard. Now you’ve given us he inspiration to keep it going. https://cicadamagarchive.home.blog/ cicadamagarchive.tumblr.com we love you all, and at least this time we get a chance to say goodbye. love queenie
  13. 1 point
    do not go gently into that good night. rage, rage against the dying of the light.
  14. 1 point
    sometimes when i read i can feel the voices riding over my own that's why, honestly i only read at night because even though i love reading my identity is fragile enough that someone else can overrun it. sometimes, when you give me advice it's like an asteroid slamming into the fiery surface of my forming planet splashing another hole of lava gaping where before there was cooling crust you embed a part of my new geology sometimes when you give me your opinion on my not-enoughness i collapse and everything i thought was true is no longer there anymore a tunnel of doubt maybe it's good for me but i just want to cool be stable always knowing and solid maybe that's wrong i don't know sometimes, on bad days one little comment changes everything but i don't blame you for using your voice if i get that right too i guess i'm willing to suffer for it sometimes, i know i'm mimicking, and i do it anyhow somewhat convinced that there are studies in psychology holding validation but this is conscious an easy way to earn your love a shameful habit i cannot squash people are willing to accept me better, if i echo their voice; feeling sick inside as i watch myself than if i close my eyes wipe them away and stare at nothingness, trying to locate the lonely planet known as myself then, some other days i don't care a growing wall of solidity the positive comments excite me i love the way words rush out of me and maybe i'll collapse when another asteroid comes through, but i feel now as though i am watching the comets from down below on soft grass sprinkled with dew and the water it's just water those stars in the sky are just other stars doesn't have to mean anything about me but i can behold their sparkles in the night, this night i think and reach forth hopefully into oblivion
  15. 1 point
    When the world is dark my love for you grows brightest.You are the color to my black and white, my perfect opposite, my perfect love.The chapter is closed but a better one has begun my love.I miss those days i wasen’t here for long, but the slam was an important part of my life. The first post I saw was one of @Ainm‘s and I thought it was cool so I signed up, the slam saw most of my thought during the first fiew months of my first relationship (and a temporary split) I’m gonna miss you peoples Connor out (for the last time)
  16. 1 point
    thank you! that means something to me. :)
  17. 1 point
    Hey everyone. As you probably now know, the slam is closing. I want to start by saying this has been a wonderful journey that I’m so glad to have shared with you all and I’ll be sad to see it go. HOWEVER. This does not have to be the end! As stated in @queenie_flower ‘s post “abandon ship”, there is a secondary slam archive in the works. Additionally, for those of you who were here to have a safe space and who wish to keep in contact, there is and has been for a while now a slam discord group. Here’s the link: https://discord.gg/D5HkXuU I’ve set it to not expire but if somehow it does, you can contact me on tumblr as @/thepensword or via email at the.pen.sword1@gmail.com . Please don’t be afraid to reach out if you need it. It has been great knowing you all and I wish you the very best in future endeavors. -Jess
  18. 1 point
    the floor doesn’t vanish; i can still feel it below me it just feels like i’m not pulled down to it anymore like i can’t reclaim my gravity i become a blank sheet of paper buzzing static silence i don’t trust the brain i once called my homeland it’s vanished, too, in the pounding seemingly (in retrospect, it fasincates me how one part can be looking in on the world, the other on its outside looking in, but in the moment i can sense that division and it scares me) manic but not happy the vague opposite of happy my brain has switched frequency spinning too quickly running too fast tapping doing without thinking so it doesn’t mean anything heart punches the beggining of my neck dragging me away from myself into a montrous stranger scribbles with no order insanity i am floating for one awful moment i don’t know how to restore my gravity
  19. 1 point
  20. 1 point
    y'all have probably never seen me around. first off, i'm piper; i use she/they pronouns and i've been a reader of cicada for three years. in january, i learned of the print version going out - at the time, i was expectant of it to live on for a long while, and saw it as an opportunity to finally get involved. i regret not getting involved sooner. but now that it is ending, i want to get involved. pass on the discord link and allow me to get involved; i regret not joining this sooner, especially as a queer person who appreciates truly all of the content here. cicada gave me a sample of what is now one of my favorite books. reading about robots and making zines and drawing and reading comics just made my day whenever it'd come. cicada was (and is) a favorite magazine of mine. it let me read about people i relate to. it let me feel like i wasn't alone. i want to get involved. i want to meet y'all. i want to get to know y'all. thanks for listening to me :)
  21. 1 point
    Hi!! Glad to have you! https://discord.gg/st7eyEz
  22. 1 point
    i asked my friends what tater tots were at the swimming pool, once, when i was ten they laughed and sang about how i lived under a rock but i knew even before that right from the getgo it’s little things like a language of hashtags i can speak but not honestly and the way i have to pretend i understand complicated references from videos i never saw i write poetry at parties on an inherited ipad mini (not a phone like everyone else has) and can tell you everything about senior’s homes and my grandmother’s dementia but i’ve never watched my own tv i get the feeling i seem a bit like the moon to the earth very far away silver; only visible when you’re not looking (which sucks, because the moon is still visible in daylight) my words never seem to be the same voice as everyone else’s always just a bit different i’ve never worried about being understood, honestly i just want to be myself despite that difference and not be afraid of being rejected and i hope this poem is a start of something.
  23. 1 point
    i'm not really sure how to put this, honestly. i could say that cicada has made these four years of my life interesting inspiring and awesome (its true!) or that i've found acceptance and learned a lot (also true) but i don't think i can put into words how i feel about all of this. but i'll try. i'm gonna mis this link in my bookmarks bar and i'm gonna miss spilling the poorly written contents of my heart to internet strangers. i'm gonna miss the nostalgia cicada gives me and that kind of good feeling you can only get from things like foggy days and the smell of grandma's house. it's gonna feel like i've got a hole right through my chest when the slam gone, but don't worry guys i've got a couple of those so i know how to deal. besides, i'll be keeping up with the discord server and archive some of y'all are setting up. so i guess it's not goodbye, really. i guess it's more of a see ya later. alligator.
  24. 1 point
    step 1: update - "daylillies" version 2.0: i am doing well, and feeling good and i am sad to say goodbye. i am always sad when i have to leave. but this was really something special. i'm gonna miss this. - "daylillies" version 2.1: i'm kinda crying now step 2: save all memories to a back up drive - saving..... your first poem on the slam, "socks" - saving..... the countless username changes you went through - saving.... the poems the inspired you to work through writers block, past tricky obstacles, and to write in different styles and ways - saving..... the comments that helped you learn and laugh - saving..... 4 years of late nights and rough drafts - saving..... the strange feeling of belonging, even among total strangers, one that you had never felt before "the slam" step 3: give final warning - warning: i'm gonna go now (find me on tumblr @/saphicheart) step 4: unplug
  25. 1 point
    “it’s funny, when i look at the sky without star charts the only constellations i can remember are orion and the dippers god, that sounds like an awful band name but somehow, i can remember that dog days came to be because sirius was high in the sky, the canine of the heavens, canis major, malam ferre fortunam now, the nights are long, sultry, days waning like the moon and i miss how the fire lit the underside of the trees and we sat too close to it, legs sticky with sweat, glowing soft orange near the flames the cicadas sang louder than the radio. did you ever point your flashlight at the sky, knowing full well that after a while the light particles spread into nothingness but wondering anyway if extraterrestrial beings, life in galaxies across the universe, would see it? different cultures saw star clusters differently, like, our andromeda could be someone’s white tiger strange, right? everyone sees the universe differently, but there’s beauty in that.”
  26. 1 point
    "leave your wishes at the well; you don't need to build your own world you will soon be big enough to climb over that mountain, or that molehill." "the grass is green here, too-- please, stay with me. step on the stones i left for you-- i promise they're sturdy. don't fall! i would fall too."
  27. 1 point
    he handed me a life sentence purgatory is my prison maybe one day I will be transferred maybe one day I will walk free but for now (or perhaps eternity) I will remain half-empty the air is my shackles the sky is no longer the limit there’s nothing more we can do
  28. 1 point
    Read this after listening to “what you own” from rent or “1950”—whichever you prefer “I think I’m lesbian.” Cass and I are sitting on the dock, legs swinging over the choppy waves. I scratch at the bug bites on my bare feet. The mosquitos are eating us alive in the hot stagnant July night, but neither of us are ready to go in yet. “Hmm.” Cass says. She paused for a second, gazing out at the warm yellow lights coming from the houses across the lake. “What happened to that one guy. You know the one? Danny or something?” I shake my head. “Didn’t work out. Told him if it didn’t work with him, then...” We hear a loud series of pops from the distance. “Guns or firecrackers?” Cass asks. “Obviously guns,” I say. “It’s the 25th.” It’s a little morbid when you think about it, but that’s life in our town of 3,000. “My money’s on firecrackers,” Cass says. “Who’s shooting their gun at...” She glances at the glowing-blue numbers of her watch. “10:52 p.m.” Sure enough, a firework erupts over the line of trees, its reflection flickering on the lake. “Told you so.” She smirks and starts to shake out her ponytail. We sit in silence for a bit. The thick buzz of cicadas fills the air. “Okay, but, with girls it’s entirely different. I can flirt with a girl. I’m smooth.” Cass doubles over in laughter. “I’m sorry,” she says between bursts of chuckles. “But you and smooth don’t belong in the same sentence. When’s the last time you were smooth?” I grin. “Two weeks ago. There was this girl staring at me in the Panera, and...” Cass shakes her head. “Sweetie, she wasn’t staring at you because she likes you. She was staring at you because you dress like a 13-year-old boy going through an emo phase.” “Not anymore. I’m reinventing myself.” The stars are coming out, and it’s a full moon night. When Cass and I were little, we’d pretend to be wolves. Cock back our heads and howl, deep and guttural. Not that we’d ever seen a wolf. East-Central Illinois scares away everything but rabbits, the occasional deer, and way too many damn mosquitos. “What’re you gonna be like?” Cass doesn’t laugh for once. She leans against my shoulder. “I dunno. Mature, I guess. Confident.” I slap a mosquito against my thigh. “I wish I wasn’t 15. It frigging sucks to be 15.” Cass nodded. “The years go by so slow,” she said, sounding so much older. I sighed, crossing my legs beneath me. “The months go by so fast.” I realized with a jolt that it would be August soon. Time was slipping through my fingers. In that moment, I felt as thought I was trying to take a picture of fireworks but only catching a cloud of smoke and a few scattered sparks. author’s note: okay i’m back after being gone all summer yay. I wrote this at midnight on the Fourth of July but in this house we stan America year round (just kidding we shit on America year round.)
  29. 1 point
    this is lovely and beautiful descriptions and i love it but also cass sounds like @queenie_flower
  30. 1 point
    i can’t breathe i can’t breathe i can’t breathe i can’t....breathe oxygen stale in caved-in lungs breath beating wings, frantic inside birdcage set my canary free let me breathe give me oxygen i can’t breathe i can’t breathe i can’t breathe i can’t breathe i can’t.... the funny thing, says the narrator with wise, weary knowing, is that she actually can breathe just fine. there’s no cage—only the monsters snarling in her paranoid, runaway thoughts in the corners of her warped and worried mind (you’ve always been a worrier) let my canary free of the darkness and the fear (i can’t breathe—you can. i can’t—you’re fine. are you sure? how can you ever be sure?)