My Cardboard Balcony

I'm twenty-six years old, I'm going to San Francisco Pride tomorrow, and I figured this Facebook post I wrote about the Supreme Court ruling on same-sex marriage to be perfect for this introspection. And also partially because I'm lazy. Shut up. Well, everyone, it happened. After years of fighting and court cases and resistance from the opposing side, we woke up this morning to hear that same-sex marriage, by a 5-4 margin, is considered a constitutional right. This is absolutely amazing news and, at least for me personally, a great way to wake up in the morning. But it's not over yet. I guarantee you that we will witness a slew of anti-LGBTQ+ laws in various states, with legislatures passing numerous loopholes in regards to who can opt out of issuing marriage licenses, who can refuse service, and who can discriminate, whether or not it's under the pretense of religious freedom. There will be plenty of angry talking heads claiming that the Supreme Court has no real...

My Gay Agenda by Belinda Roddie Step one: Eat cake. Step two: Sleep. Step three: Repeat.

Cynthia had a certain technique when it came to making pancakes, which I really couldn't figure out even while keenly observing. It was more than just the flipping, more than just the stirring of the batter and the greasing of the pan. There was something about the way she bent her wrist, or flicked the very end of the spatula while allowing the breakfast treat to spin into the air before landing, nimbly, onto an adjacent plate.

The Sushi Roll by Belinda Roddie The sushi roll felt strange against my teeth, and as I chewed, it was as if the rice were slowly disintegrating beneath my tongue, like dust that tasted rather nice. The fish started to melt, too, and I thought, "Is this the food, or have I somehow fell into some sort of druglord's frenzy, fraught with hallucinations and witches' spells?" The sushi chef appeared before me then, wielding a pair of large knives that he rubbed against each other, the sound hellish. When I asked him to stop, his evil sneer scrubbed my courage away, "If you dare to spite the sushi gods," he snarled, "you die tonight!"

If you leave, I will follow you to the little black pond at the edge of the forest, where the leaves turn to gold in the middle of the night, and the sun cannot touch the soil and turn it from gray to brown. If you drink from the pond, I will plunge my whole body into its water, to give myself the immortality that you so desire for yourself. After that, it will be tainted - there will be no God among man but me, and I am not quite man nor God.

Late Night Snack by Belinda Roddie I found the cut off crusts of your peanut butter and jelly sandwich in our beagle's food bowl, already growing moldy. You were curled up on the couch, watching soccer and giggling every time a fullback pretended that he had been severely injured. When I reached down to stroke your hair, you flinched like I was going to hit you. If only you knew I am not like your mother or your father, looming over you in the smallest corner of your room when you were a child, snapping a belt to make it sound like a snake lunging to strike, refusing to let you eat cookies and milk - and peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwiches, the sugar oozing from your pores as I finally got to kiss you good night.

Ketchup on my sleeve, coffee on my pants, still not going to change when I join my friends to dance. There'll be whiskey sloshed around, and beer spilled on the ground, and I'll just swirl with all the stains and never form a frown. I'll go home with the smears, my make-up wet like tears, the splatters of all three meals as I sleep for thirty years.