My Cardboard Balcony

And Underneath the Bridge by Belinda Roddie And underneath the bridge, we shared a kiss while high above the ground the war began. The airships billowed dark smoke into our sore eyes as we attempted to escape. The governors of districts wanted us dead before we could reach New Eden. We were not ones who would bow so easily to feeble threats or brandished blades or cocked rifles. Whenever I kept guard at our humble campsite, I wished to hold you as you slept and ensure you that everything would be okay once we'd found our new home. Because under that bridge, we promised that we'd live and love throughout the aftermath.

The two lovers wanted to adopt. Sure, they could have a child of their own, or two, or maybe even three. But the thought of adopting warmed their fingers against their coffee cups and their cheeks against their color-matching scarves. They talked about raising a child who needed a family, bringing him or her out of a dire situation or utmost despair and sadness. A little dash of hope in a gigantic pot of emotion.

Blank-blank-itis by Belinda Roddie Jeremy had tonsillitis and acute appendicitis "How's that cute?" Hannah tried to ask but she couldn't - laryngitis (wait, or was it pharyngitis?). Poor Samantha got bronchitis after Grandpa got arthritis. I would hate to break the pattern but you've got mononucleosis and some bad tuberculosis and some nasty halitosis - here's a pill, now off you go-sis!

"If the caterpillar turns into a butterfly," asked Sadie, "what does the butterfly turn into?" Mister Deidrich, smiling warmly, shook his head. "No, dear," he said as he wiped away the chalk from the black nothingness in front of his classroom. "Butterflies don't turn into anything else. They just stay butterflies." "Really?" "Yeah," the teacher replied. "Isn't that beautiful?"

The Fine Diner by Belinda Roddie Red ascot napkin paper cup handbag sip a whiskey Ahhhhh. Nothing like the fine aged morning with a musky sun dangling like a pendulum back and forth on whittled clouds so easy to chip away with toothpicks He wipes his mouth samples a mussel He wipes his mouth samples his muscle against the tablecloth of forest animals shivering under the booger-heavy snout of a clout Mother notices he used the wrong fork for his cobb salad and left red and pink and blue hazelnut screws glistening under handshakes from talking starch shirts and saxophone neckties

There's the old saying about "if walls could talk," and can I just say thank God they don't? I mean, if they were gossiping about the stuff I did in my room, it'd be all over! And no, it does not involve naughty things. It involves...silly things. Like maybe, just maybe, I have a collection of swords that I brandish sometimes to act cool. Or I think of random songs to play and sing on my guitar. ...DON'T JUDGE ME, WALLS. I KNOW YOU ARE.

Drunk Man's Rhyme by Belinda Roddie tick tock head's like a rock heavy and dead time to go to bed