My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie What the heck is meringue powder? And why do we have so much of it in the cabinet? Why have you spritzed me with a vanilla sugar smell? And why are you coming at me with a pie tin raised above your head? This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie.

Huh. Almost midway through December already, I guess. Decade's almost over. We're going back into the 20's, Heaven help us. World's a mess, Christmas is crazy, the week is long. So to quote one of my new favorite Tik Tok content creators (and I know, I know, others have said it, too): What the hap is fuckening, y'all? You peeps good? I'm gonna be hanging out by myself for most of the weekend because my wife's heading to her in-laws' place, so unless I make any last minute plans, it's me and the Binxy boy. And that darling bladk cat's been celebrating Friday the 13th today, so there's that. My seniors performed their poems this week. Lot of them wrote about some serious stuff that I did not anticipate them being comfortable presenting, so hey, I'm proud of them. Takes a lot of courage to do that. Now it's just a matter of getting them to the holiday break without losing my goddamn mind. Anyway, I'm sleepy and probably going...

A Christmas Carol? by Belinda Roddie Tag yourself, friends: I'm the Ghost of Lingering Existential Dread.

Happy Anniversary, John by Belinda Roddie I try not to resort to cussing to serve as my main form of percussion, but in certain instances, my sailor's brain will not be tamed, and the salt spills from my lips along with hot sea foam, 'cause my dude, I am frothing at the mouth when it comes to remembering an anniversary about you. Five years since I cut you off. Five years since I decided I had had enough. Five years since I knew I was in trouble, but since my conscience was seeing double, I couldn't put my finger on it. But now I can comfortably say what I've wanted to tell you since I separated myself from the miniaturized Hell you built for me: Fuck off, John. Yeah. You heard me. Fuck off, John. Holy shit, that feels so good to say. And it took me forever to let those words spring from my coiled tongue. I had to roll them like marbles, treat them like glass. Delicately, delicately, so as not to break a soul. I know you couldn't always ...