My Cardboard Balcony

I Wish by Belinda Roddie I wish I could be perfect - not a flaw would mar my physicality or shape, nor my mind. When I was a child, I saw how my inferiority defamed me - I became a victim, bullied, shamed, because I couldn't stop making mistakes or break my foolish habits. I was named a scholar and a dreamer, but the brakes were used on my life time and time again. Failure can be an option, but alas, I feel like there's not much room for it. When I've stumbled, it affects my job, my class, and how I'm viewed in this modern world. No, I'm not perfect, and it's a nasty blow.

Look at little Marty Moses sitting on the stool in the corner of the saloon, almost sixty years old, and with only ten teeth left. See him suckling away at his stout glass of root beer, lips pressed tightly against the straw before it gives out. Marty Moses likes to smile at the ladies when they pass by, and they all giggle 'cause he's enduring, and the bubbles from his drink all burst between the gaps in his gaping mouth.