My Cardboard Balcony

Shut Up by Belinda Roddie once in while (or thrice), you're told to shut up, buck up, fess up your sins, stand up and dress up your wounds and use safety pins, drink water instead of wine, stop crying with pulled down window blinds, because no one wants to hear that you feel nervous inside. it makes you wonder who's right, the looks you get at a bus stop - too white, too gay, too sensitive, and too much of a hearthrob. you know people love you, yeah, that's definitely no lie, but when you're told your problem's old then you have to ask yourself why.

A piece of gum stuck to an old shoe wished it could grow legs and walk a sticky walk over to Chinatown. There, it could try to enjoy a plate of chow mein, were it not for the fact that it had no mouth, and no teeth to boot to show on the noodles and beef. It wanted to have a top hat and cane and dance on the streets, but without appendages, such a desire was more than difficult to quench. So the resiny thing sat silently against the rubber, dreaming with no brain.