My Cardboard Balcony

Stress Reducer by Belinda Roddie Cotton amber fireflies soothing a lemon tongue can do wonders for a seven-track CD brain with the laser caught on a stain and skipping the same three notes over and over and over again, the ice synchronizing in your lungs, swimming pool full of warm pudding to dip your swollen knots into, the twists loosening like a corkscrew pulling out cheap residue from a cheap vial. The TV is not willing to shut off, so you mute it and ignore the shrieking Picasso mouths stretched out into bubblegum snaps and offer a spray of vintage relaxation to a friend. Hopscotch with hot scotch, cool running with cool rum, clam chowder appetizer and a fall to the plush with your toes against the ottoman, pushing you into daylight before night's even done. The sparks are crispy on your gums. Chew them. Spit them out like liquid firecrackers, watch them burn up into red ash. Commit to the wing ding font of your living room, where your brother i

We are meant teach our children to become better than we were. Plain and simple. But we as mentors do not like being defeated by the students. We hold a sense of superiority in regards to our knowledge and our experience, preferring to become stingy with the information we have gathered or concluded upon without sharing it with the younger population. But the truth to wisdom is that wisdom is shared, passed along like a hot mug or an embrace, to allow peace and stability to a young heart that will lead us to new dynasties.