Says the Magic 8 Ball to the young boy
“My reply is no.”
So
He shakes it again.
But he gets the same answer.
The boy though gets numbers,
And knows that the odds of him getting that answer again
Are highly unlikely
So
He shakes.
And the Magic 8 Ball sighs and says “Yes.”
The next day
The boy tells his crush at recess that he likes her.
And she does not feel the same way.
And the boy walks home
Wearing sadness like a first-day-of-school outfit.
Openly
Wishing he had listened to the 8 Ball the first time.
Says the Magic 8 Ball to the adolescent boy
“Don’t count on it.”
But the boy WAS counting on it.
So
He shakes it.
But he gets the same answer.
The boy though is an optimist.
So he packs his bags
And moves west.
Hoping to replace old problems with fresh faces.
The problems though live inside him.
So they greet him at the terminal.
Hand him back his baggage.
And the boy is reminded
That pain travels at the speed of sound barrier.
Crying
As he shatters silently.
Says the Magic 8 Ball to the young man
“I’m sorry.
Outlook not so good.”
But the young man figured as much,
He is a pessimist after all.
But he is also a lonely pessimist.
So he settles
Down to shouting matches and deafening silences,
That scream symphonies
To anyone who is listening.
But his friends only seem to speak in "I told you so."
And they did.
Often.
So now he’s alone again.
Says the Magic 8 Ball to the young man.
“You’re a mess.
Better not tell you now.”
And the young man hears the train wreck approaching,
But he was expecting it.
His agony does make a habit of repeating itself.
And the boy,
Now young adult,
Has seen this act before
So he waits anxiously
For the now too familiar feeling.
Says the Magic 8 Ball
To the me
On the bathroom floor.
“I am a children’s toy,
Not a therapist.
And I love you kid,
But you need medicine I can’t give you.”
And the boy is now a man
But the magic is missing.
I mean
The joy missed it’s cue again.
I mean
He reached his hand into the hat of happiness
And pulled out a diagnosis.
I mean
The answers don’t make sense anymore.
And this time
It’s the man who’s shaking,
Trying desperately
To keep the facade dam from fracturing.
But depression doesn’t give a shit if you prepared for the storm.
Just reminds you that if you survive this one,
There’s a hurricane with your name on it.
And the man is shaking something in his hand.
But it’s not the 8 Ball
It’s a prescription.
And he’s wondering what dosage
Would magic trick his damaged into vanished?
Into gone boy.
Into obituary sensation.
Says the Magic 8 Ball to the poet.
“Dammit hold on…
Hold on…
Don’t leave before the best part.
Just hold on. “
But the man doesn’t believe in magic anymore.
Is not sure he ever did.
Says the Magic 8 Ball to the broken poet
"You don’t need me.
You have always been your own Houdini
Charming agony into masterpiece.
Magicking metaphor into healing,
A living allegory for blessing.
You are the answer to someone’s empty.
They are dying for your dazzle.
And Hogwart’s got nothing
On the goblet of fire on your tongue
You were made to shake the world.
Not some plastic genie
That can only tell you things you already know.
Can’t you see it?
Just staying alive is the greatest magic."
Says the magic boy to the the page.
"There are days I don’t want to be.
But I am still here.
And now for my next trick…"
About the Creator
S.C. Says
S.C. Says is an Austin based slam poet who has been performing slam poetry since 2013. He's toured and featured at venues and universities across the country, and his poetry has been viewed over 700,000 times.
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