Age

I dunno if I’ll grow old
Condensation to the cold
Sorting through back issues of men in tights
Put a dollar price on a life
Argue for a piece of the pie
Where things would go if we should die
Who’s remembered, who feels a slight
Who gets to spend that last night
Next to me as I fail to breathe
Dreaming of to be’s
And I’ll never know what happens next
In the novel by my bed
Is what I’ve done worth a paragraph
In a book
Or Wikipedia page?
I dunno if I’ll grow old
It hardly seems fair
Never land is never there
Memory is a fickle thing
And mountains rise in death
Where in life, an ant pile stood
If I don’t write something down
Who will defend me
When history makes me a villain
Or I am judged to have lived
A life irrelevant?
Who then but the ghost in my words
Juvenile limericks and phrases
Jotted down when the moment strikes
How else will people know how I’ve spent my nights?
How else will people care
For a woman long dead, it’s hardly fair

The problem in standing still

The problem in standing still

I have a superpower where, no matter where I am, I can single out the one person or group of people who watch doctor who or read graphic novels or something I can relate to. On an off day, I can narrow it down to one topic I can comfortably discuss with people I’m uncomfortable around. A lifetime of moving around has helped me get pretty good at this. When I do open up, I’m great at making friends. The problem seems to be keeping them.
The people I consider to be my best friends at this point in my life are not the people I text everyday or see often. A high school friend I see every few weeks to catch up, a former Americorps friend I send funny pictures to and swap stories with occasionally, a convention friend I talk about boys with sometimes. I don’t know how to be the friend who sees the same person everyday and still has things to talk about. Someone I know joked recently that I “collected” people. I laughed until I realized the truth in that statement. I wander around, making connections with each location, then relegating said connections to Facebook on the off chance I’ll see people again. I rarely see people again, or stay in touch. Even people I’ve known for ages surprise me or I fail to understand. I sound like a terrible person, but sometimes I don’t know how to care about the petty issues in the lives of people I pass day to day.
I love humanity, how can I not when global issues fill me with a sense of empathy that hurts? I just don’t know how to care about the individual, the person who wants to tell you all about how an article of clothing caused a massive controversy on television. I don’t understand why I don’t care, but I don’t. I want to be your friend, but I think I have friendships the way some people have loves: brief, intense, passionate, over. I don’t want to collect people so that I can say “oh, I know people there.” I want to listen to what someone has to say and actually be interested in the person, not about how being around them will benefit or influence me. Now, I’m in college. I’m stationary. I can’t run away the moment I get bored. I have to buckle down and make some friends that I can be around. Is it too late to learn?

Adult

I’m most likely blonde, for I won’t have the time
To drive to the shop and wait in a long line
I’m sure the color suits me
Maybe it’s been years since I’ve read a comic book
Even as a bedtime story
To kids who look like me
It’s been years since I’ve watched Serenity
And maybe it’s worth it, if I’m something amazing
Maybe it’s worth it, if no one has to save me
Maybe the sacrifice is worth it in the end
I guess I won’t know, at least until then.

Identities

I am the girl, behind bookshelves in the library
only Batman to take away the lonely
I have two sisters, and a sorority
To push, and pull, and comfort me
And you may see my face and look my way
What does this white girl have to say?
And truthfully, I have not endured
what others may have persevered
But I know how a single word
left untranslated in a herd
of happy family on holiday
can express more than I fail to say
And I know that identity
Is a cruel limbo to be
It’s taken me years to understand,
You CHOOSE who you are and where to stand
And my baby brother, pedigree unknown
Will one day grow to be a man
Before than, marking scantron sheets
Filling the bubble next to the word “Hispanic”
Because that is family, that is it.
We are all who we choose to be
whatever labels stick are the ones we let be
And I will not suffer anyone to tell me I am not one
of any group or family I
have grown to love or been so inclined
For only I choose who I’ll be
And I choose to be every part of me
I choose to be my family
I choose to be the woman I am
Call it free will, call it God’s plan
I choose to be every piece of me
In a slapdash collage of poetry
It may not fit in all the eyes
Of everyone who looks at me
But mine’s the only opinion that counts
And I happen to like my big mouth.

Fly on the Wall (Magic Bullets 19)

“As a performer, I take it as a challenge when some one says that a feeling cannot be described or put into words, like books so brilliant they are considered unfilmable, but this? I am finally at a loss for words, a defeat.” She snuggled closer to his warm frame, feeling the delicious contact of skin against skin. “I don’t know how to say what I’m feeling at this moment, how to portray this. And I don’t care. I just want to stay here for as long as I can, okay?” Her deep brown eyes glanced up to meet his, holding each other closely, tightly, with more than arms.

Her sleight frame, enveloped so completely by him, was relaxed and at peace for the first time that he had ever seen. She was not restless, a bounding, anxious ball of energy, nor a sulking, glum shadow in a corner of a dark room. He could scarcely believe how happy she looked, lying with him, him of all people.

“I…I like having you here, with me. As well.” His lips pressed against her forehead, one finger tracing her jawbone as he did. She always managed to smell like green apples the headquarters cafeteria set out occasionally during lunch, ripe and delicious in those few minutes before they were all snapped up by hungry crime fighters. She laughed at his fumbled words, poking at his bare chest with a tiny finger on her tiny hand.

“You like having me here with you? That’s practically an “I love you” coming from mister stoic-assassin-guy!” She stuck her tongue out, comical for a second before kissing his lips again and again.

On a pause between kisses, he managed to say “I do, you understand? I…”

She stopped mid-kiss, pulling back slightly so that she could see his face fully. “You…you can’t mean that. You, we, that’s not…”

He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, unwilling to let her run away until he had explained. “Eliza, we’ve been doing this for a year now, this game. What if-”

“What if what?” Her eyes expressed a fear as she suddenly became a frightened young woman. He didn’t know how to continue, what to say, so he simply said “I love you.”

“Joe, what do you want me to say? Do you want me to say that back to you?” Pulling away from him, she sat up in the bed, a conflicted expression crossing her face.

“We are already putting ourselves in danger, as it is. We both have enemies, we both have our jobs.” His hand reached out to touch hers as he continued, saying “Would the next step really change so much?”

“What next step? I quit to sit at home and have babies? I stop my work to become a parent, like Blackfold? I can’t do that, Joe, I can’t. I put my dreams on hold for the Alliance, this is all I am now.”

The absurdity of it all made Joe chuckle, Eliza sending him a dirty glare as he did. “Eliza, I’m not asking for that.” He sat up next to her, his hazel eyes meeting her brown eyes. “I want to be the first to know if you are hurt. I want to be the one you trust to check in on your family if anything should happen to you. I want people to know that I love you, not to hide this like we’re ashamed. I’d like you to let me love you.”

The memory stopped. Douglas frowned at the water, waving his hand to move back through the memory. Having the Assassin’s memories to sift through had proven to be an invaluable resource when it came to gather information on Day Dream. Having all of the captured vigilantes memories was quite useful really.

“Would the next step really change so much?”

He still couldn’t find it. It was just as he’d suspected, Day Dream must have wiped all memories pertaining to the children. It was the same with the others he had obtained. Not a single mention.

He knew he should be content, having the country in his grip, dozens of powered vigilantes under his control, the powers of Day Dream on his side. He even had several second generation powered children in training to join his private army.

But he also knew that some important pieces had fallen through his fingers. His spies had informed him that two figures associated with Hero Girl were actively leading a resistance against him. And somewhere out there was a boy who could grow up to have powers that rivaled his own.

But if his spies had gathered the correct information, all of that would change very soon.

Who Watches Over The Heroes (Magic Bullets ch. 18)

(It’s been awhile, I blame college! I’m getting to the stage where I’m starting to figure out which parts of the story will go where and hopefully, I’ll have a concrete manuscript before the end of the year!)

“Thanks for watching the kids, guys. We really couldn’t miss this meeting.” The woman kissed her daughter’s forehead before herding her and her brother into the living room.

The Browns had been babysitting The Tyler’s children and vice versa for years. Though the kids were teenagers already, neither sets of parents felt comfortable leaving them to their own devices.

The Browns, private investigator Dylan Brown and his wife, school teacher Dinah lived in a suburban neighborhood outside of a bustling city with their son, Lee, and adopted daughter Ruby. Phoebe and Lyla Tyler lived just down the street with their daughter Beth and son Timmy.

All four teenagers went to school together, grew up together, and were seldom apart (through the workings of their parents, determined they’d be friends).

Entering their car to leave for their meeting, Phoebe couldn’t help but look back at the house, where her children were with their friends. “Beth looks more and more like Wall everyday.” Lyla nodded. “And she has a talent for soccer. She was amazing at try-outs.” Lyla shook her head. “I am afraid that someone may notice her while she is on the field.” Phoebe laughed a bit, saying “No ones noticed Timmy in his plays so far, and he’s all about being noticed!” Lyla smiled, thinking about the boy she had raised.
“Did you ever think it would be us, back in those days?”
Phoebe’s smile turned to a frown, glancing back at the house. “Of course not. They were the heroes, we were faces in an army. They were supposed to be unstoppable.”

They drove towards the city, towards their meeting with two of the only individuals they still knew from the old days, other than the family now known as The Browns. The meeting was to take place in an office building they’d rented out for the occasion.

A woman, younger than them, and a young man sat at the briefing table waiting for them. Both still wore the masks leftover from the last battles. Both were eager for news.

“Lynette. Feline Fatale. I trust you are both doing well?” Rachel Gordan had grown tremendously since her sister Hero Girl’s capture. She and her brother still traveled the country and the world, meeting up with former Vigilante Alliance members, gathering information. Phoebe knew what they wanted to know and what they would ask of them.
“We’re both well. As is your niece.” Rachel nodded, seemingly relieved. Her brother sat silent and impassively. “Has she or any of the other displayed any signs?”
Lyla spoke, with a steely tone; “No. They are normal, everyday human teenagers. They have no powers.” Eyes narrowing, she added “And you will not use them for your fool’s errand. It is suicide.”

Rachel slammed a fist down on the table, causing the table to wink in and out of sight the way objects did when her powers were beyond her control. “That bastard has my sister! My family! Barbara is growing up without her mother!”
“Beth,” Phoebe interjected, “is growing up with two mothers.” She and Lyla joined hands.

Rachel would have none of it. “He has Wall. He has Hero Girl. He has Day Dream and Sharp Shooter and Dragon and Fahrenheit and dozens more! He is taking over the world, and soon enough, we won’t be able to hide!” Her brother spoke up, calmly. “We are of the belief that when the youth display their powers, we can train them and stage a rescue mission alongside them. We need the worlds heroes to stop our enemy before he succeeds in his plans.”

“What if they don’t have powers? What if it’s not genetic? And what of Blackfold’s son? Garnett’s twins? Would you doom children without powered parents to die saving people they never knew?” Phoebe was standing now, speaking loudly. “Rachel, when we adopted Beth, we swore to keep her safe, to hide her from the monster, the same way we’ve kept Day Dream’s son safe, the same way Blackfold has kept Dragon’s daughter safe.”

“Her. Name. Is. Barbara.”

“She is a 15 year old girl. The battles were 13 years ago. For all we know, our friends are dead. Sending their children for their corpses will accomplish nothing.” Lyla spoke matter-of-factly, flipping the switch on her bracelet that held a glamor like computer program. Where once an average middle aged olive skin woman stood, an alien female with pale skin and maroon eyes gazed around the room. Lynette, the diplomat from the stars.

It was at that moment the four former heroes heard footsteps approaching the door. Rachel blinked out of sight, her brother floating on the air, preparing to fly away if needed. Phoebe felt her claws extend while her wife stood still, straining to hear the voices of the approaching strangers. She whispered in a terror rarely heard in her voice “It is them.”

Rachel hit a button on her comm bracelet, yelling “Warning, warning, this is Pink, we are compromised, guard the gold, I repeat, guard the gold!”

The door was knocked down, and a wave of armed soldiers filled the room. Their anti-invisibility goggles quickly spotted Rachel, the blocked exits prevented an air getaway. The fight was over before it had begun.

As the four former heroes were forced into handcuffs and pushed to the floor, a pair of polished, expensive shoes walked into the room and stood before them. “Yes, yes, all of that information about Hero Girl’s brat is so very interesting, but tell me.”

A white gloved hand forced Phoebe’s head up, demanding her eyes to look into the blue eyes of the madman who had started all of their problems.
“Tell me. Where are you hiding the son of Day Dream and her assassin?”

Phoebe spat at the man once known as Sir Douglas de Blue, once known as the Warlock of the Wilds, now known as dictator and president for life. She smiled. “Rachel, when I said the kids were just normal kids…I lied.” Her captor smacked her across the face, understanding the complication in her words.

She smiled again as the woman once known as Lynette laughed and said “Our children will eat you alive.”

“Oh, my dear, how will they get past my guards, especially now that I’m adding an invisible woman, a flyer, a cat girl, and an alien to the ranks?”

I promise not to eat your Guinea Pig

Inspired by a conversation with Miss Moriarty and Vicksburg Guy and an article on odd foods, I present my attempts at humor.

I promise not to eat your Guinea Pig

It’s a delicacy,
In some parts of the country in my cultural background,
I swear that it’s true,
that people do stranger things than we do
Roasted fire ants, shark fin stew
There are many odd ideas for you to chew
Chew
But I promise not to eat your Guinea Pig
Or any other “cute” and “fluffy” creatures
Though I am a carnivore and a recovering picky eater
Who yearns to connect with my ancestral identity
I won’t try the fried hamster
Mainly because you’d refuse to speak to me
And I’d get annoyed and tell you all about my plate full of cuisine adventures while visiting the homeland
Then you really wouldn’t speak to me, vindictively ordering a small cute and fluffy rodent off the web and delivering it to my house
The hamster would be wearing a bow tie, to prove your point
That such creatures are too adorable to fry
And I would ruin it all by saying “how’d you know we were barbecuing?!”
Then you’d report me to PETA and I’d have protesters on my lawn
Which is church property because I live in a rectory
Can protests happen on church property?
It’d be funny for a total of five minutes
Than I’d start to regret
Eating the hamster
Guinea Pig?
Are those words synonyms?
It’s probably better just to
Promise not to eat your guinea pig
Or at least, not tell you if I do!

Remember When

I am 19 years old
The only hangovers I’ve ever had were in those awful moments after finishing a book where my mind is still lost in that world, stubbornly wanting to stay
I dream of road trips across the country, because in my dreams, I am a fabulous driver
I like peppermints because the flavor makes me think of Christmases long ago when my dad didn’t have to work
Lemons and rosemary potatoes
Flavors and smells hold memories just as well as photographs and notebooks
But I have to write things down, because if I don’t, my mind will rewrite facts to create more entertaining stories
So I am writing this down, so I don’t forget
The moment when I thought, in the haze of happy delusion,
That I have been here before
I have been here before
Spoken the names before
Tasted this fear before
Asked again for more
And if I’ve been here before,
That means this will end again
That I will fail again
That I will once more write down the faults and trials and log all the miles
Of round trip tickets costs
Once again be at a lost
From the Summer to winter’s frost
And this will be a memory once more.

The Truth About Beauty

I think you are the most beautiful girl in the world
That doesn’t matter at all, if you don’t think you are beautiful
I can leave stickers in your room that say “riot don’t diet”
Hide the scale
Lend you books about fish without bicycles
Recommend music by confident women with hairy armpits and lovers
But that doesn’t matter if you don’t believe in your own beauty
I can tell you that beauty is a myth created subconsciously by society to keep women in their place
That aesthetics is bullshit when it’s not architecture
That the magazines show edited girls with edited smiles and no one really looks that way
That you don’t need a boy to love you,
but if you wanted one to,
you could find one without weighing the perfect weight,
tanning,
bleaching,
injecting,
neglecting,
protecting your figure
And I’d be wasting my breathe
If you didn’t listen
Truth is, the way you perceive yourself will always hold more weight
Than the scale
I can lecture you about a world that pressures women to be beautiful, to strive for beauty
So that they’ll spend all of their time on that
Instead of upsetting the set status quo
But if that idea of beauty dictated by society really and truly makes you happy
Then I’d have to stand aside
Because your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me
But if the magazines, and commercials on tv
Make you feel inferior and make you feel ugly
Then I’ll continue to talk, hoping you listen
Lend you books
And hide the scale
Until the day, something within you starts to grow
And understand
It’s your beauty in your hands
And that it’s only important if you make it so.

Observations (Magic Bullet 17)

People always assumed the Inner Circle were all pals because they spent so much time together, but really it was entertaining sometimes to watch them work.

Blackfold, while one of most impressive non-powered vigilantes in the alliance in raw skill and ability, treated the whole business like an adventure story from one of his comic books.

Dragon behaved like the CEO of a business, refusing to acknowledge the emotional and familial aspects of the mission even when Fahrenheit displayed obvious signs of affection.

Fahrenheit and Blackfold got along for the most part, bonding over similar tastes in music and the fact that they seemed to be the only two in the original group with a sense of humor.

Hero Girl was a veteran of business, fighting on the streets before the Vigilante Alliance even existed. While holding no powers of her own, it was rumored that she was the oldest in a family of mostly powered siblings. Given her predisposition towards rules and order though, that could just be a rumor; if she had powered siblings, they’d have to come here for training or she had somehow bent the rules. An impossible thought in her case. She did not play well with others; she resented Dragon for being in charge because she believed Dragon only saw the position as a job and not a duty. She disliked Fahrenheit’s reckless attitude and his tendency to flirt with everyone regardless of gender or timing and Blackfold got under her skin due to his near constant references to fictional characters and the fact that he was a non-powered vigilante with less experience than her who had been elevated to the same status as her due to, in her mind, getting some good publicity. She was a bitter, haunted women who gave everything to the cause.

With that in mind, it almost makes sense that she would hate Sharp Shooter, the man who only accepted a role in the Alliance to escape a prison sentence for past crimes. She could never forgive him for being an assassin.

Sharp Shooter treated Blackfold in a patronizing sort of way. No matter how fast, how strong, how agile Blackfold was, Sharp Shooter would always be faster, stronger, more everything thanks to regimen of test drugs subjected to him as a kid being trained to be a killer. Fahrenheit and Dragon he ignored mostly, seeing Dragon as the reason for his entrapment in the program and Fahrenheit as her lapdog. Hero Girl had his begrudging respect after she became the only person to last a sparing session with him and not quit. He won of course, he always won, but fighting that angry amazon were the only times when he felt a genuine challenge to succeed.

He listened to Dragon’s orders, obeying because to do otherwise would violate his agreement. He tolerated Blackfold, though less patience went to the punk rock pyro. And in his free time, he did research on Hero Girl because she was the only person he had met in the Alliance he believed could potentially stop him when he inevitably escaped.

They’d deny that they were anything less than a cohesive machine, but I see everything. That’s what happens when you bring a spy into the fold. I’m called Who, and my team, the VA Strike Team, are consultants to the Vigilante Alliance. When says we have a much greater mission waiting for us, in that vague way time travelers give information. For now though, my job is to understand their group and find a way to have them work together more easily.

I’d never say it out loud, but the key might just be that obnoxious new girlfriend of Sharp Shooter.