inkstained., vol. i: inside my head (spring 2019)

inkstained Literary Arts Magazine Volume I: Inside My Head May 2019

inkstained-“Inside My Head”

The biggest boundary that we faced as a new literary magazine was gathering submissions. We originally planned to publish our first issue of inkstained in 2018, but we simply could not gather enough work. This year, that’s where the theme “Inside My Head” came into play. We chose this theme because it can mean anything to anyone, and it encourages writers and artists of any kind to contribute. “Inside My Head” has its boundaries, but at the same time, the limits are basically nonexistent with how far creativity can run.

Editorial Policy

The inkstained staff reserves the right to edit student submissions for grammar purposes. However, the content and meaning of edited pages remain intact, and writers are notified if any changes need to be made.

Selection Policy

After the theme of the magazine is selected, an open call is put out for submissions. inkstained is made up of works from students from Center Hill High School, and submissions are judged based on individual merit and how well they fit the theme. We would like to especially thank the CHHS Art and English Departments, all students who submitted, and all teachers who helped make this possible.

Colophon

inkstained is printed on 80# premium matte paper. The cover is printed on 100# linen paper. inkstained was created using Adobe InDesign CS5. Cover art is by Senior Hannah Ewing. Center Hill High School is a member of the Mississippi Scholastic Press Association.

Makenna Tyge

Alphabet of Change Mary Lindsey

When was the new alphabet taught; did I miss that day in school?

When did it change from A for apple to A for anxiety?

B from buses to bullies.

When did C change from classmates to competitors?

D from desks to depression.

When does education end and exhaustion start?

G gravitates from good grades to gun violence, while homework is lost in humiliation.

When did “nice try” transform to “not enough”?

Participation mutated into a demand for perfection.

When did S stop standing for studying and start meaning stress?

R from recess to rivalries.

Weekend plans are lost to be a well-rounded student.

When did it change from be yourself to be who they want you to be?

Can I change it back?

Genocide Generation Mary Lindsey

Is it the desensitization of a generation, or am I just empty inside?

Why do I look at the news, see more people have died, a world split apart, just waiting to collide, but when I peer in the mirror there’s not a tear in my eye?

I go to hide, in the movies, the music, it’s all glorified.

Oh he killed himself, promote mental health and then turn around and ignore his cries for our help.

(Since when is an earlier grave an optional way? No.) This is a culture of escape and denial Turn off the TV and hop online, so you can control what you can find Ignore your sister in the bathroom crying and go rant online about the kids in Africa dying.

A bombing in Florida, a shooting in Vegas.

When will we learn that we all have to face this?

This acceptance of violence is leaving them faceless in a book of statistics that we can’t erase.

We can’t see our own backyard because the blinds are shut and when we go to open them, the strings have all been cut.

The door’s blockaded, there’s no way through but when we look at the barrier it’s our own socks and shoes.

Our possessions are keeping us locked inside, a self-made prison so we can hide from the truths and realities that we try to deny.

But we can’t hide.

Closing your eyes doesn’t stop the mass genocide.

Covering your ears can’t stop the screams outside.

Covering your mouth won’t stop the hated words.

Forget the memes and go to a memorial.

Remind yourself of those people -thoughts and prayers -- those things are feeble compared to the actions we need -- they’re unbelievable.

I’m not asking for a Susan B. or a MLK J. Just no more death at the hands of an Ak So that when I turn on that TV I won’t need to cry ‘cause there won’t be any killings or mass genocide and I can be happy that I’m still alive.

Makenna Tyge

Makenna Tyge

Wilting Flower ~

Anonymous Before him, you were distant, aloof, cold to emotions.

So, what’s different now? What about him makes you want to change all that?

What about him makes you suddenly want the feeling of closeness, heartfelt attention, wholesome affection?

You love the thrill he brings you; you tolerate the pain he brings you; you accept him completely. You still feel empty.

From the times he refuses to acknowledge your presence, to the days that he’s belittled you.

Your father used to call you worthless...your father ignored you constantly as he yelled at your mother and put marks upon your skin.

Is that why you still deal with him?

It’s what you know.

It’s all you’ve seen your entire life and he’s the perfect model of it.

Maybe it’s why you let him deflower you -pick every petal off you until you’re withering.

Humiliated, by yourself, as your friends watch you drown in the wretched palms of his hands.

But what can you do?

Your very veins are attached to his every word, or rather movement since he has no desire to speak to you; his every word: a desired oxygen.

A once vibrant flower, now needs to withstand a cold distance.

Sarah Claire Miller

Allure

Noor Herzallah

Kai stepped into the water, completely discarding his phone along with Matt’s onto the dark soil. And he too snapped out of the trance when the freezing water kissed his face. He gasped, choking on the water that rushed in his mouth. He fought to break through the surface as well, but his attempts were in vain when the water yanked him under.

Kai desperately held his breath and kicked frantically, but it was as if the water pushed him further down. His lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, but he refused to breathe in. However, he didn’t have to, for the water forced his mouth open and pushed itself down his throat and up his nose. An excruciating pain pierced him as the water filled his lungs.

He lost the will to continue fighting, but as he sank to the bottom, he felt oddly calm. A serene peaceful feeling overcame him. The water around him seemed to glow as the moonlight pierced through, illuminating everything.

He laid on the bottom of the lake near Matt, whose still eyes held the same calm. But the last thing he saw, before everything stopped, were the hundreds of bodies also lying on the sandy embankment.

Almost

Anonymous He was cruel, and you loved him.

Well, he wasn’t always cruel.

Sometimes he was nice and sweet -- everything you could have wanted in a boy. Sometimes he bought you flowers, said the sweetest things, sent you heartfelt texts.

He held you as you made love, kissed your fingertips -- called you beautiful to make up for the times he left you wondering if you were enough for him, those times he constantly put tears in your eyes and he apologized.

And you believed him.

Sometimes you chose to believe him to make yourself feel better.

The first time he took you to meet his friends he said, “Isn’t she a jewel?” And you felt your heart swell with pride, and you felt you were his everything. You wanted to kiss him like a smitten school girl.

So later when he called you an embarrassment, immature, an annoyance, you felt your heart drop, and your cheeks turned red with embarrassment, your eyes burning with tears.

So he stopped talking to you.

You felt it was your fault; you must’ve done something wrong so you started apologizing for nothing. It really got to your head. The problem was he was cruel, and you had a big heart.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean it, I tend to do that, forgive me.”

He almost had you, didn’t he?

A few more months and he would have ruined you.

Makenna Tyge

Storm Clouds Ma’ Zealluas Brown

No matter what, the rain will always come again These showers always seem to directly affect me I don’t know how the drizzle forms Yet, I always feel like it traps me indefinitely Do I pray to one day see the sun?

Wait inside until the storm is done?

Or do I embrace the outside..?

I guess I’m trapped between Flashing light and the distant crash of thunder But knowing that it’s still coming Won’t help me face it any braver My fears, my doubts They’re darkly forming clouds, and they’re starting to intensify So when the first drops dot my window frame The emotions start flooding in I can feel it in the air This dimming light is surely my precursor But no matter how I try to prepare, I’ll always fade as the sky worsens And as the dark hours begin I’m overwhelmed by the sound of uncontrollable water

ignoring it until it ends Won’t make the rain any calmer My fears, my doubts They’re loudly crying out, but then I look up to the sky As the last drop hits my windowpane The sunlight starts to beam again Here comes the sun, flooding in Its beaming rays always resonate with me Don’t know how long it has been gone But I just know its light will always come and say to me, “Don’t be scared when these feelings come.

Open your eyes, and you’ll see the rain is done.

Don’t cry. Dark times always come in life.”

Though this cycle will surely start again, And the healing process of both myself and the land will take time The sun will always be there in the end, So I know everything will be fine.

Marissa Heath

The House is Still Caleb Jenkins

In the early morning, when the first bird sings Another flies away, on dark blue wings When dew collects on blades of grass Droplets fall on shattered glass A window broken A roof caved in The floor is cracked The door unhinged A bird lands, perched on the window sill On the horizon, the sun appears above a hill Another bird alits, on an empty rocking chair A chill wind blows through the crisp autumn air A bed not slept in A book unread A silent kitchen An overgrown shed One bird, its wing is broken Tries to fly, but falls back down It tries to call and speak words unspoken But from its beak comes no sound

Hannah Ewing

There are no people There haven’t been for years The house is empty The house is still.

Tanika Kounhavong

Friends Nancy Toche

What’s the purpose of having them?

Convenience?

Personal Gain?

Or perhaps they are just objects to you?

To be disposed of when you decide you are done with them?

But why did you call them your friend?

I believe those people you treat as objects were worth much more.

Are they not human such as yourself?

Who deemed you able to make that decision?

Tell me what qualities do you offer those who surround you and don’t you dare say compassion.

For if you ever had an ounce, you wouldn’t have tossed me aside, would you?

You have pulled the wool over my eyes as you lead me down a hole, where instead of using a ladder and helping me up, you grabbed a shovel and began to bury me.

We were never really friends, were we?

That’s the sad truth I have to keep telling myself to keep myself away so I no longer get hurt by you or anyone else.

But I guess I’m just being dramatic because how dare I, someone you have deemed unworthy, have feelings. why is it that this whole generation is so selfish? I’m not an exception.

Everyone is selfish in their own way, but when it comes to people I put them over myself because I’ve been taught I’m not worth anything so that I might as well show others they are worth something.

All I have left to ask is...

Why?... Why was I deemed unworthy of your time?

A Piece to Find Nace Adkins

Close your eyes. Explore your mind. Open your old memories. As a child, you wanted to create something in your life before you forgot about it a few years in middle or high school. Find the pieces in your head and put them back together. It can take a few days to collect them all. Take a walk outside, pace around your room, your house, “ anywhere. The pieces fall into place; you found your past creation. It has been a long time since you’ve been creative, and now you can create again. Write a poem, essay, or a short story about what this is all about. Give some details; your friends might get interested in your idea. But wait! There’s still more you might find in your past memories.

Dig deeper in your head, repeat this cycle. You might become like an author.

Makenna Tyge

Heather Layton

Hannah Ewing

Loving

Sherrice Wright Loving someone who can’t love you back there’s no worse feeling it’s a heart sinking with no hope of a life jacket it’s reaching into a void hoping you can pull out something reaching for some light, a miniscule blip of something.

The hope of something is enough to make anyone hold on that sought after something, that nameless, faceless something it’s nothing and everything at the same time it’s truly indescribable yet we all know exactly what that something is we are all on the hunt for our somethings looking for it at the bottom of bottles, between the legs of lovers, in laughter of friends and I found my something in you but that something faded and now I’m once again searching for my something.

I think that’s all life is looking for something like miners for gold pleading like beggars for just a glimpse, a snippet for a something like someone else has.

Breaking hearts, clawing with bloodied fingers at the chance to snatch a something from someone else.

I wonder how many people have had their dreams crushed over a something their hearts broken, their lips chapped, their throats raw looking, searching hunting for a something.

Hannah Ewing

Happiness Makenly Medlock

What is happiness?

Happiness is the feeling you get when you’re in the moment, When you’re with loved ones having a great time, When you know it’s your time to be happy.

Happiness is the joy a mother feels when she hears her child’s heart for the first time.

Happiness isn’t something that can be bought from someone, But it has to be made with love and care And it’s easy if you honestly want it.

Happiness is You.

I Will Not Give Anonymous

I feel so blue So in my head You have no clue I want to be dead And if I die Before I wake, Please do not cry God my soul did take ‘Cause if I’m saved And see the light, He will have caved, and I can stop the fight But if I live To tell my story, I will not give All the details.

Being Black Dionna McGluen

Being Black is a gift from God. Being Black is something to be proud of.

Being Black is being different.

There is nothing to be ashamed for Being Black.

Being Black comes with pros and cons.

Being Black means melanin is poppin.

Being Black means to be strong and to be proud.

But, Being Black also means to be careful where you step.

Being Black also means, “Keep your hands where I can see them.�

Being Black means that no matter what gets thrown at you, keep going with your head held high.

Who am I? Ma’Zealluas Brown

Who am I? I am me. I am one of the infinite me’s.

The me I perceive only exists to me in my own mind.

He’s much different than the me’s who appear in the minds of others.

How is the me in those minds? Is he kind? Is he sweet? Is he rude?

Is he vulgar?

What does everyone think of “me”? Is he unwanted? Unnecessary?

Useless? Or is there anyone who think he’s important? I wish I could one day meet a me who embodies pride and confidence, so I could think the way he thinks. I’m so confused on what it is I need to be. I hope he can answer some questions for me.

“Who am I?” I am me.

“But which is the real me?”

The real me is-----------.

“Could I exist without him?”

Only partially in a world of

none.

“The me I know is so useless. Why can’t anyone understand me?

Why can’t anyone understand you?

“Is that a bad thing?”

No. “...will people hate me for it?”

Possibly.

“Why can’t I make everyone be happy with me?”

The perception of you is too vast.

“I see...”

You do?

“It’s pointless to think of how everyone views me.”

I agree.

“I want to change myself so everyone can like me... But how?”

Fix your own perception of you.

“How?” Understand that there are plenty of

you’s that exist beautifully in the

minds of other people.

“But the me I know is pointless”

And the you they know is

priceless.

T. Kounhavong

“Why?” That is an answer we do not have.

“Okay...” That is for others to decide.

“Which me are you?” I am the you in which you wish to be.

“Ah, that’s right... I want so much to be just like you.”

That obession will be your downfall.

“But you’re my vision of perfection.”

A goal that cannot possibly be achieved.

“But everyone wishes you were me.”

From what I can tell, evryone wants

me to be more like you.

“So how do I know that I’m the me I want to be?”

By understanding the you that you are

is amazing as it is.

“They think my flaws also make me, me?”

Correct. “useless...useless...useless.”

“Useless.”

“Useless.”

“I can’t take this anymore. I’m so alone. Why can’t anyone hear what I try to say? Why isn’t anyone resonding? Help me.”

“Please help me...”

Calm yourself.

“Please help me...”

“Anyone please...”

This self undoing and unstableness won’t get you anywhere.

Before you ask for help you must help yourself.

“Please...help me...”

“Yes, please...”

You yearn for my help?

Then what would you like me to do?

“HELP ME!”

You seek answers for questions you do not have. Reaching for me will only hurt you more. I am the “perfect” illusion that you wish to be. The only person who can help you love yourself is the you who stops reaching out so much for me. Always have faith in the you that understands never to truly rely on me.

“Okay, I understand now. The only way to embrace me is to be me.

From now on I will work towards being me. The me that is all the me’s.

I now know that I am the one and only true me, and no matter the faults I have, that’s all I have to do. Be proud of being me.”

Hannah Ewing

Staff Page What’s Inside Our Heads?

Randi Terry

Kris Randle

Nada Herzallah

Paige Brick

Nadia Sumlar