My Cardboard Balcony

So a few things. First of all, it wasn't the end of the world. The Mayans never predicted it, and long-count calendars, when they end, get replaced with new long-count calendars. This is why common sense is a useful tool, people. But what a day it was, anyway. The biggest highlight was the fact that I snatched up some fiction and poems, went to an alumni showcase for the performing arts program at my former high school, and performed in front of a good chunk of people as an '07 graduate. I was part of an arts program called Marin School of the Arts, and I dabbled in a lot. Creative writing, theater arts, and jazz choir, specifically. Now, obviously I have presence, and I certainly write, sing, and perform music. But writing was what I ultimately went back to as my main passion, and it was also what I did for my first two years of high school. Being on a stage again reading my work in front of former high school colleagues and mentors was definitely interesting, and though I

Like Birds, Then Cursed by Belinda Roddie The stones upon this shore have turned to eggs And on this separate ground they fertilize With fragrant breath and long, elegant legs They look like growing girls with eyes of green That change their shade to show their every dream So ladies born like birds live separate lives And every boy with his warm red fantasies Their passion lit like bonfires to the skies They kiss the golden skin in revelry But pull their lips away in quiet fear For then it is their secrets all will hear So ladies born like birds live separate lives On stones amidst the like they hide their wings In velvet gowns that shapeshift like their eyes And one, if not from some, quietly sings Of emerging from a lovely woman’s womb Instead of being resigned to separate tombs As ladies born like birds live separate lives The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since July 19th, 2007.

"My thoughts are scattered. I can't focus." "How long has you had this scattered feeling?" "I don't know. I can't tell anymore. My brain likes to tell me that this is the way it's always been." She took notes. I leaned my head back against the blue cushion and tried to settle. My eyes were itchy in their round sockets. My left nostril was clogged. My throat was dry. "So what is something you like to do that helps you relax?"