My Cardboard Balcony

This Again by Belinda Roddie And we're back full circle, drinking fire from cans, checking our wristwatches for the full moon. We have done this over and over again - over half-melted ice cream, over coagulated Jell-O shots. We have stirred our own hearts up in brine just to see if the sweetness would overpower the salt. I am desperate for your attention, but time is eroding like the shoreline, and the heat outside is getting to me. My vertigo paints you green and gold, and you rise in front of me like an evening demon, ready to sap the energy from me, preserve it in amber, and leave it like an insect trapped in a jewel of artificial human-saturated history.

They told me that anything was possible. Anything. If I just set my mind to it, it would happen. Confidence. Zeal. Resilience. All those big words typed in Garamond or Helvetica on inspirational posters. If I just got motivated, I could do whatever I wanted. Whatever I wished. Whatever I hoped. Well, people, I have been working tirelessly to learn how to fly, and seven broken bones in my arms and legs later, I still haven't accomplished it. Needless to say, I want a refund.