My Cardboard Balcony

The Freest by Belinda Roddie Three children bounce up and down happily in the bus seats, blue cushions and red faces, big smiles and small fingers, groping at the cords that signal for the next requested stop. Their mother is tired, frustrated. She grips the stroller with whitened knuckles, looking out the window once in a while to see if they are any closer - any closer - to seeing the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Or, more accurately, a pot of something savory on the edge of a hot stove. One of the children, with dark curls and bright eyes, screams, "Monkey! Monkey!" over and over again, and perhaps I should be annoyed, but instead, I smile as I prop my poetry journal against my knee, remembering the time when I was their age and had no filter. I said words, words, words, what was on my mind, in an endless stream of youthful consciousness, all excitement when it came to the world around me, without worrying that someone, in the corn...

"I want a toy truck and a toy brontosaurus!" cried the little girl, pointing at the rows of goodies. Her father chuckled and squeezed her hand. "Don't be greedy, Nadia," he grinned. "One or the other." This was a far better response than I would have imagined. Most mothers or fathers seemed to discourage their daughters from getting anything that wasn't pink or sparkly. Today, however, was different, and the girl's defense was even more enjoyable to hear from my position behind the counter. "But, Daddy," she argued, "if I don't get the brontosaurus, then who's going to drive the truck?"

I knew he was amused by my abuse, so I loosened my fist enough to catch him on the side of the head with my knuckles. He fell, sprawled out, against the pavement, and while I stood there numbly, wondering exactly what I did to take him on, I was horrified by the faint but noticeable trickle of blood leaking from his left ear. "You killed him," murmured his girlfriend from the curb, her face going white. "You crazy bitch, you killed him!"

by Belinda Roddie When the cat spoke, it became obvious who was smoking my cigarettes. "You owe me seventy-five bucks, you little runt!" I snarled. "Tough, snookums," the cat replied, reclining in its chair with its Hugh Hefner robe draped over its paws. This week's prompt was provided by Daniel Bulone.

"That's..." It felt like my tongue was swelling to twice its size in my mouth. I pointed a lazy, yet shaking, finger. "That's my aunt's locket." Eli smiled. "I know," he said. "I found it at Grandma's house, before she passed. She'd be holding onto it for a long time." I swallowed, hard. I could hear a slightly audible squeak against my teeth. "It's been so long since..." "Yes." I could see the tears backing up in Eli's eyes.

Tomorrow is National Coming Out Day. I have been out for almost four years. And wow, it's been an amazing ride since then. I met and fell in love with my now fiancée back in May of 2011, a mere three months after coming out officially to my family and friends. We were able to achieve marriage equality - and major steps forward in trans rights - in my state beginning in 2013. Now, when I see the momentum in other states to accept LGBTQ+ youth, allow same-sex marriage, and promote the love and safety of trans citizens, I am filled with nothing but hope. There is a lot of crazy stuff happening in our world, and a lot of it isn't that great. A lot of it I get hung up on, and scared about, and the hopelessness is really easy to get addicted to. The LGBTQ+ movement also has its footsteps taken backward, but more consistently than not, it is moving forward. People are opening up to the queer community and learning how to learn and love. Old prejudices are being discarded. I can on...

The Pirate by Belinda Roddie She caught a seagull. It had one leg, like her.