locustmag - Tumblr blog

[locustmag]

When I Go Down to Dreaming

by Apollo’s Lover

from a location buried by gentle thunder

~~~~~~~

When I go down to dreaming it will be like tonight. Like snow and rain and wind and wet hair. Don’t you remember? Like dark nights in winter when all the world is falling down on your face and it makes you laugh. Don’t you know the scent of everything collapsing? In that forsaken hour, it will be cold, because the sun has stepped out for a minute and I have no money for oil in its place. / Are you not also poor? / When I go down to dreaming it will be because I miss you. Miss forgetting to tell you the important things and making small talk instead. Don’t you remember? Miss the way you stand very straight like a soldier, like your hair, like the spine of a book before it has been broken. Don’t you love the sound of books spilling out their guts? In dusty pages, I will go down seeking you, and I will not come up satisfied. / Are you not also hungry? / When I go down to dreaming I will be far away. Far away where we eat bread and water, food pure enough even for prisons, the cages of sinners like us. Don’t you remember? Far away where the fireplace is not yet lit because we must not spite the cold, which is stronger than us. Have you not also learned to keep its memory? In the cold, I will go down dreaming and in the morning I will forget I loved you, will never have loved you, will not be me. / I will not be me.

[locustmag]

The God We Loved

by apollo’s lover

from my uncle’s sweater drawer

~~~~~~~

God smelled like candle smoke and knew everything, even the day we would die, but dying was make believe then. When Grandpa died we wanted to see his body, and Mommy let us, but she said “he’ll look different without his soul.” / God made it rain, and we whispered under our blankets, shivering softly. The sky fell like cotton drapes and whispered back “rest peacefully,” and we, trying to fill our empty minds with white washed hours, complied. / God spoke out of the dirt, and grass grew from it so high we couldn’t see over it, and we ran into it wanting to get lost. Over the dirt we built stick bridges for the ants. Sticks are small compared to trees, but so are ants, and so are we. / God said “Love, and I will never leave you,” but crying out anguished for our people’s sakes, we couldn’t be bothered to love.

[locustmag]

Ghosts

by Wandering Monster

from atop a marble gravestone

~~~~~~~

When I was a girl I believed in ghosts, Saw how they hid in the old silos And fluttered with barn swallows Up in the splintering bone-rafters Like wisps of linen and souls clinging on After everything is over. / Out in the wind-warped houses With crumbling concrete frames And rusting tin roofs, Beneath the ancient oak trees That hide the mottled marble graveyard, I once watched spirits waft between The cornstalks and run transparent fingers Through the tumbled pebbles in the creek. / When I was a girl I would sing to the ghosts, Let them know in wavering well-meaning words Woven with genuine care that they were not alone In the great empty fields and the vast open sky. I remember hearing them sing back because Maybe I needed a reminder too. / The ghosts were true to themselves and I learned as well, Under the golden beams of dusty sunlight And the stillest, silent pond, That we all belonged there in the forgotten park, In the tangled bramble bushes and worn-down paths. / When I grew up at last I left the forest, stepped out Onto paved roads and walked toward the man-made, Overly orderly towns that lay nestled in the rounded mountain range. The ghosts didn’t hold my escape against me. / On dark nights, when the mist seeps up from the hills, I can still hear them murmuring in the winter wind Outside my foggy windowpane and see their faint firefly glows out in the woods. Someday I think I’ll step back into that park and join them.

[locustmag]

Silicon Sanctuary

by Wandering Monster

from an overgrown roadway

~~~~~~~

Sometimes I think my body is an illusion, a mirage wrapped around jagged teeth and broken horns, narrowed claws and the forlorn grin of a monster. On the days I don’t belong I think that maybe I’ve been stuffed into a robot body of lukewarm silicon, pretending that even though it’s one size too small, I can shrink myself to fit, feel comfortable in knowing that no one else can see the beast within. I’ve been like this for a long time, clawing at my insides, trying to get out and see a sunrise Unshaded by these bead-glass eyes. I think the creature in me is stronger than this vessel-body, but she never escapes because she’s afraid of humans, their condescending faces, angered words. I’ve never heard of a monster living with men like she belongs, so maybe my illusion-self is a safety net, holding me back from the brink of their terror. Or maybe freedom is within my reach and I’m just too much of a coward to chase it.

[locustmag]

Call for submissions

Locust Magazine is a completely free, independently run teen arts and literature archive that accepts submissions in everything from poetry to flash fiction to artwork and beyond.

We are committed to a diverse and accepting environment and welcome LGBTQ+ and POC writers and artists. Our roots are in a place where loving community was able to grow, and we hope to keep that engaging and comfortable atmosphere alive. Read our story here!

Submissions are open! Check out our submission guidelines first and then get writing! Submit here or on our website or just give us a follow if you want to see our content! We can also be found on instagram and twitter at @locustmag and can be reached via email at locustmag@gmail.com

Please support us by spreading the word!

[locustmag]

5am

by @thepensword

from the passenger seat of a car

~~~~~~~

5am mirage

follow the yellow brick or the taillights

the world is

gray

gray and black

old film without the white, save for dotted line stretching into oblivion

oblivion is close, in this moment

fog bank lies heavy above our heads

rolling blanket of descending sky

the horizon is close, like this

and the world shrinks to a half-mile radius

nothing feels real at 5am

i am an illusion within an imagined scene

what are the stories of those i am passing?

what brings them to this half-mile image of an illusory world?

i am watching the condensation on the windshield

watch the droplets of refracted light

the world blurs as i remove my glasses until light is all that remains

5am exists on another reality of

magic

and

illusion

there is a lightness on that horizon

time to wake up

[locustmag]

one day

by Gwen Power

from a location unknown

~~~~~~~

one day this will all make sense and my brain will be allowed to breathe, the cacophony of destruction shall lead to ringing and euphony like a piece of noise music, reveling in its destructive capability i will be set free and i will not be alone. and when i see them, my jaw will drop; aghast my loneliness will burn away and bring bonfires of devotion and cherish, and i shall be witnessed in my reborn form, with the full knowledge that i have someone who will hold me when i am about to shatter; glass in a vacuum imploding under the strain of being and i will do the same for them. / these four walls are a hell that i have created and i want out.

[locustmag]

Love

by Wandering Monster

from a forgotten forest

~~~~~~~

I can't pretend to understand the way we look at each other, know what it means. I weave words, write wonder into other people's minds, but you and I, we are wild and we create sparks, not poetry.

[locustmag]

Saturday

by Apollo’s Lover

from The Land of Broken Dreams

~~~~~~~

in the morning

he wore glasses

half awake

and made me waffles

he let me whip

the egg whites

i took forever

but they were perfect

fairytale mountains

/

in the morning

she wore a sorority sweatshirt

full of holes and extra fabric

her hair was long

like i thought a mother’s should be

she put on his shoes

and got the newspaper

which was covered in orange plastic

and dew

/

in the morning

i wore a pink nightgown

and made angels

in my rug

like it was snow

i didn’t touch the waffle maker

(he told me it was hot

and i would burn)

and i ate my waffles

into perfect squares

[locustmag]

unfinished ode to a matching soul

by @queenie-flower

from a location unknown

~~~~~~~

when is the time to say those words?

Is it past midnight when your conversations slide between cracks of reality and breach lines where separation once existed?

Is it after you spill your soul into their lap?

Is it when neither of you are good at feelings, and

joke about the inevitable tragedy—

wide and vague and sweeping

until both of you have forgotten it because there’s a

someone

out there who will believe you and trust you

send you secret questions

come up with the ideas you couldn’t

(how do you tell them that their reaction to your words is critical?

how do you tell them you’ve been waiting for more?)

/

what are the words you use when they are the genius fool to match yours,

the exact opposite that bleeds into you,

the sparkler to your salt spray

and how do you say

“we are alike, deep down”

and not have it sound like a promise?

but it is a promise

of alliance

of facing the world and beyond together

because neither of us have decided there is no god

but how could two souls match so well otherwise?

/

do you say it when you’re alone in an empty room?

do you say it when you’ve laughed so much you know it will need to be vanished from record,

when the space is too big and too small so you squish together

legs bumping and arm over the back of the excuse of a sofa

do you say it as they flip through screens, animated as they tell you stories you know the ends to,

and is that when you confess?

/

when do you declare to someone that you,

you are prized among friends.

you are a soulmate in the most platonic sense,

and better yet,

I didn’t believe I could ever find one

I last believed in a true best friend when I pointed out fairies in our garden,

before isolation and the opposite,

before the swarms swallowed me with too many options instead of none.

and yet here I stand

declaring that you,

you may have defied my expectations

as always

[locustmag]

untitled

by Wandering Monster

from the middle of the woods

~~~~~~~

Sometimes I think I’ll never be found

In the riptide soulstream of voices and screams

For help in the flood we made for ourselves

On this strange little rock hurling herself through space.

I remember the nights when nobody came when I called.

Of course, it’s all a jumble of ‘am I okay today or just pretending

To be different than everyone else’s darkness.’

I want to be happier than I am on the nights

I recall all the people I loved and then lost.

I feel like being forgotten is not a bad thing

Until I realize loneliness doesn’t suit me.

We’re all fickle like that, wishing for one thing

And needing another. I think, on nights like these,

When the wind speaks of autumn but never delivers,

That I’ve fallen into a cycle in which I love and hate

Myself for it. As always, I am an in-between,

A monster walking human streets and pretending

To be as broken as they wish they could be.

In truth, I am only naive - learning my way around

The world and how it works while failing

To keep people I care about along the way.

I’d say it’s wearing me down but somehow

I look forward to life at the same time.

I think that means, even though everything seems

To be going awry, that I’m okay.

[locustmag]

Sorry about the lull in content! I’ve been very busy, so there's a bit of a backlog of works that needed posting, but I’ve scheduled several for tomorrow! Thanks for bearing with me!

~Mod Jess

[locustmag]

reflections on history

by @thepensword

from the interior of a textbook

~~~~~~~

will we be written in the future?

will our names be

painted on walls

our faces

pasted into textbooks

history is a tide, so one wonders:

are we the fish or the ocean? do our scales flash against the beach or do we fade away?

oh, to be a seashell, abalone shining in the sunset

paint me into your history

count my joys in the freckles of my children

will you hear my sigh on the wind?

perhaps we are an era

if so, will our be voices be trapped on records, cds, youtube tracks?

autoplay leads to our screams, old film it’s not even 3d

be thankful it’s not 3d

we are history in real time, aren’t we?

oh, to be a passage in a history book once it has become history

it sees so glamorous to be written in ink

but screams are less exciting in real life

am i a history?

take my scales and paint them rainbow

paint them red with blood, orange like gunfire

paint them blue like fists raised in rebellion

am i but a river rock, smooth and worn?

you and i, we are broken glass in the ocean,

our edges doomed to be rounded by the tide.

paint me that tide, and do not forget its name.

[locustmag]

Ode to the Hollow Hearted

by Apollo’s Lover

from a dry field in my mother's childhood

~~~~~~~

The days go on into the sun round to where we were begun Not behind cold sterile doors but in the haze of summer's whores And tomorrow we become the mothers we were birthed out from It's so long lingered this smoldering dust it's filled the gaps in our empty lust In one story houses we're soaked in sins hoping for tornado winds The days go on into the night kept hot by neon brothel lights We drown our minds in blood and shit stains our children should forget The river chokes on red and brown and the shreds of a prostitute's white lace gown The highway cracked and soaked with dirt carries dreams 'til they numb into hurt And when the clouds flood the ground we drown in the storm sewer by the playground

[locustmag]

Galaxy Girl

by Wandering Monster

from a place lost in the woods

~~~~~~~

Galaxy girl is beautiful, hair swirling with light. Her eyes are dark, but they glow with the mirth of nebulas Compacting into planets, beginning something grand. I didn’t plan to fall into the depth of the aether, Lose myself within her silver-space smile, Dream of her laughter like colored clouds singing. I didn’t expect to find myself in the wild untame Of the outer atmosphere, floating up into her unknown. I’m going somewhere new, into the uncharted reaches, Regions unseen by my sheltered mind. I hope she’s still waiting for the day my spaceship is complete and I can once again feel the way her fingertips Make mine seem like they’re made of stars.

[locustmag]

Don’t forget to check out our October horoscope!

[locustmag]

Follow us on Instagram and Twitter! @/locustmag