My Cardboard Balcony

During certain days - and sometimes as long as weeks at a time - my opinions of my self-adequacy fluctuate. It's no secret that while I am an obvious extrovert about, say, eighty percent of the time; I, like a lot of other human beings, harbor pretty strong insecurities not just about my looks (weight included), but also about my skill set, perception of talent, social strengths, and relationships. This is not to say I'm paranoid or fragile. After all, I have plenty of moments in which I'll say, "I'm particularly proud of this line" in a story or poem that I might be reading to a friend or family member. And I certainly will be pumped up and optimistic enough to call myself a badass when I do something valuable from time to time. But moments are moments, and moods are moods. And during some spaces of time, my confidence in my self-worth and my work tends to deplete, leaving me in an awkward spot mentally and emotionally. Sometimes I'll feel very tired ...

Rainy Day by Belinda Roddie A hallway to a corner room A sudden draft brings drops of dew Across the carpet, faded white Then while the rain starts falling The dew is gone   Coffee cups all scattered The window drapes are tattered Then one mug falls and shatters Ground to dust upon the carpet Faded white   The old man sits in his easy chair His tabby cat curled in his lap He’s got a strain upon his brain He can’t relax, the raindrops patter The silence gone The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since April 3rd, 2008.

Wheat beer, sliding down slowly, kicking sourdough in the back of the throat as I reach for the soggy jalapeño poppers. Somewhere, someone's head is bumping into my shoulder, like a sad puppy who just wanted to lap up the spilled Guinness in the floor, where some drunken klutz let the pint glass drop and explode like an Irish heart does after an old-fashioned wake. And the keening starts, and I drink again.