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Everything posted by somewhereoutthere

  1. jenga

    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.
  2. is anyone still listening?

    This is really good! :)
  3. embittered

    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.
  4. embittered

    Typo: title was meant to be "voices" and I went onto autopilot. Embittered was actually the title of something else I'm in the middle of writing. I can't figure out how to edit posts I've already written, so I'm stuck writing this in the comments section. Could someone help me on that?
  5. embittered

    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
  6. speed

    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
  7. closet

    . 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.
  8. closet

    thank you! that means something to me. :)
  9. 98.3%

    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. gravity

    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
  11. gravity

    i meant: (in retrospect, it fasincates me how one part of me can be in the world, the other looking from the outside, but in the moment i can feel the division and it scares me)
  12. things that don’t fit

    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.
  13. I don't wanna go

    thank you for writing that. it means something to me. :)
  14. tears

    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.