My Cardboard Balcony

You Were My Princess by Belinda Roddie You were pure royalty, Carrie - you took the chain that confined you and used it to asphyxiate the angry gods in the sky. Just as you asked, you drowned in moonlight, strangled by your own bra. Your personal galaxy became bigger and grander than the one we all lived in. Stardust was in your blood, towering nebulae in your brain, cosmic monuments to your survival and your sass. You took the scepter and the crown and bedazzled them with your own jewels: Unconventional gems and stones that gave you a different color than the rest, a different shine than the rest. You didn't just endure the fires of criticism and shame; you blew kisses at them, and you waved them off with an extended middle finger before off skipping toward the horizon with your giddy dog drooling in your arms. You were my princess, Carrie, at a time when I realized that princesses were the only people I could truly fall in love with. Your majesty was only

If I could bottle up my rage, I'd have a whole wine cellar full of the stuff. Then maybe, once in a while, I'd uncork one of those bottles and pour the wrath and anger into a glass. A few sips in, and I'd be ready to roll. Productive aggression is always good. I think I'll start a vineyard and grow fury on the vine. Lord knows the people need to harvest it.