"MAGPIE's Monsters," Sophia Reeder
Spastically Sprinting Wide-Eyed: FANTASTIC
Scott A. Hennessy
I nod to the beat. Quick feet. Bombastic.
Just another one of my tactics
I drastically get attached to the ones around me
Then pack my bags. Your lack of words astound me.
You didn't really think that I'd pass the test.
You didn't really I'd be cast for this.
If you're thinking that way that's such madness
But I'm liking that hate I'm a masochist
My skin got ripped up
Whipped and cripped up
I say words but it's not what I think of
I try my best but I always get tripped up
Nothin but jargon I call that a lipdub
But I still feel so abandoned
I jumped that ship then landed
I pump that shit I'm loving it
Now I feel heavy handed
Meticulous and candid
I'm In charge and I planned it
So worthless and pedantic
Hear that bomb tick-a-tick
I'm bout to rage out rampid
I'm a package of pistons
I pissed it
Ask for permission
Stretched on a table
Hate and ambition
Dicks in their cliques
And I’m picking
Idiots making a killing
Thinking they’re deserving of the things that they’re getting
Was it you?
Damn you’re getting rude
Platonic and placid is living low like prostitutes.
Constitutes my problem
A mistake you didn’t choose
But happily ever after is a bullshit fake excuse
My eyes are shot.
My chest is hot.
And my skin is burning.
A mind of torment is inelastic
But spastically sprinting wide-eyed’s fantastic
Voicemails for the Dead:
December 11th, 2014
[Hi! If I didn't pick up which you probably noticed by now, I'm not available at this time. Leave me a voicemail or give me a try later? Bye!]
"Thank god that ended.
You have absolutely no clue how hard it is to call you every day and hear your greeting. Hear my laughter in the background with you. To remember that there was once a time when you were breathing, blinking. Everyday I call hoping, praying, begging for you to pick up.
You never do.
That's the shitty thing about heaven though isn't it? Whoever's in charge won't let you say goodbye or say hi to the ones who matter most— sorry, mattered most in your life back with the living. They want you to let go because you’re dead. They want you to accept that your heart doesn't beat anymore. They want you to realize the world has moved on.
And I hate that.
Because the world hasn’t moved on. I haven’t moved on.
Walking home from school, I noticed how everybody around me was still going about their day as if you never existed. There was a little girl, she had brown hair and brown eyes, excitedly running up to her mom screaming about the ice cream truck that had just pulled up. The man handing out the ice cream seemed sweet, the outer corner of his eyes creasing due to the wide smile on his lips. I tried to tune out the jingle playing from the loud speaker. It was too animated, too happy to listen to.
It reminded me of us—when I used to grab your hand and pull down on your arm to get you to crouch to my height, my big eyes and squeaky voice begging for a popsicle. You would laugh and pinch my nose, telling me you’d get me anything I wanted. Your smile was so bright. Even on the days I felt sad, your smile would make me smile. You were beautiful. The most beautiful person I’d ever seen. I always hoped I’d grow up with your piercing brown eyes that would turn amber during sunsets.
Now every time I look in the mirror, all I ever see is you. Never myself.
Yet everywhere else, it seems like no one else sees you. They see everything else. And to see everyone not caring about you not being with them, with me, I felt like lashing out. How could they not give a damn about you? I know I shouldn't be so mean to them. I mean it's not like they knew you—just like I never knew they existed—but it hurt so bad to know everyone else has moved on from an irrelevant death and I still haven't.
But don’t worry. You’ll have your place in this world. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make sure that you’re remembered everyday because that’s as much as I can do. I have no power to do anything else. Nothing. I feel worthless, but maybe if I can hold your memory as close to me as possible, if I can keep the memory of you alive, maybe I can keep myself alive.
I love you, mom. Heaven stole my world away from me, but I’ll make sure they don’t steal you away from this world.”
"Record Waves," Sophia Reeder