#forelorn

for  someone  who  is  self-proclaimed  from  all  over,  she  doesn’t  expect  to  be  so  unmoored  after  a  summer  being  one  of  those  too-much  girls  in  new  york  city,  after  wearing  her  list  of  rules  like  a  layer  of  lipstick-ed  protection.      see,  she’s  perfected  the  art  of  self  defense  in  floral  patterns    &    little  quips,  in  playing  it  off  like  there  isn’t  anything  that  can  affect  her  in  a  way  that  she  can’t  push  it  off  with  a  press  of  her  lips  to  her  fingertips    &    a  flirty  wink  thrown  to  the  nosebleed  bleachers.    

it’s  too  hot  for  the  end  of  a  rockford  august    ;    there’s  a  fine  layer  of  disused  silt  over  her  mitt.    that  first  damn  that  had  passed  between  her  sly  smile  the  first  time  she’d  seen  @forelorn​​  swing  a  bat  is  perilously  close  to  loosing  now.    but  things  are  ...  different  ...  between  them  now,  and  the  rouge  capping  her  cheeks  is  overly  warm  considering  she  just  stepped  out  of  the  shade.      

The Pink House

this  is  dangerous    &    greta  knows  it:    @forelorn​​  is  in  the  cramped  little  flat  she  has  all  to  herself  in  new  york  city.    there  is  only  one  bed  shoved  up  against  the  studio  corner  of  the  bedroom.    there  are  loud  neighbors,  screaming  city  sounds  bustling  by  in  squelching  tires    &    angry  shouts,    &    the  lights  pour  in  through  her  window  blaring  bright  without  a  touch  of  softness.    she    &    carson  do  not  have  the  nervous  sanctity  of  a  chaperone  or  the  threat  that  one  of  their  teammates  could  burst  in  at  any  moment  to  keep  her  from  dipping  too  deeply  into  this.    

it’s  a  little  TOO  GOOD  to  be  true.  

she’s  getting  comfortable    ;    it  feels  like  more  than  friends  out  to  eat  dinner  with  carson  coming  toward  her  with  two  wobbling  cups  of  coffee  each  curling  out  a  little  twist  of  steam    &    toeing  precariously  around  the  nightstand,  around  the  clutter  clogging  up  this  little  space  like  she  belongs.    

this  is  dana  all  over  again  but  so  much  worse  because  somewhere  in  carson’s  suitcase  is  a  ring  she  isn’t  wearing    (    because  this  feels  right,  like  instead  of  sprinting  around  the  plates  that  she’s  flinging  far  out  past  the  fences  with  nowhere  gentle  to  land    ).    “    keep  that  up    &    you’ll  NEVER  make  it  to  home  base,    ”    she  throws  out,  lounged  back  across  the  pillows.    she  doesn’t  move  from  where  she’s  settled  back  into  the  mattress  when  carson  looks  so  at  home  slouched  into  her  pajamas    &    caught  in  the  golden  sun-slats  pouring  in  between  the  lines.    she  doesn’t  mind  the  wait,  though,  because  this  won’t  be  a  FOREVER  thing    (    it  can’t  be  a  forever  thing    ),  so  she’ll  enjoy  it  while  it  lasts.    

Poems The memory still stings, a dull ache in my heart years later. I can picture the kitten so clearly: a tiny ball of fluff on the path I walked, the plaintive meows clearly audible over the city’s hum. I assumed instantly it was abandoned, too young to be alone. My first instinct was to scoop it up, to offer warmth and safety, but practicality, that cruel mistress, intervened. My apartment…

Again.

I should sleep on my back for my spine

But now laying on my side reminds me that I'm alone.

My hand yearns for the curve of your waist

The taste of your shoulder faded far too fast

I miss looking into your eyes...

When you aren't pitying me.

It's said that love is a socially acceptable form of insanity,

But you can't accept my love for you.

I hope this time alone allows you to get what you need

But I've given up on giving up.

So I'll be here when you're ready.

Still.

“    oh,  hey.    ”      sam,  shoulders  buckling  under  the  weight  of  a  tumbled  bedrock  of  building  shrapnel,  tilts  to  see  the  @forelorn​​  bolting  in  a  crimson-black  blur  onto  the  scene.      “    uh  ---    ”    

since  the  last  time  they  met  in  the  throes  of  vigilantism,  sam  has  gone  from  the  hero  with  no  name  to  the  predictably  moniker-ed  SUPERWOMAN.    &    her  bandy-legged  but  well-intentioned  hold  on  her  abilities  is  ...  slightly  stronger  than  the  unstable  foundation  rumbling  beneath  her  boots.