My Cardboard Balcony

So I just wrapped up my first semester at my new school. And as you probably could tell from my last poem, it ended more with a whimper than a bang (thanks, T.S. Eliot). I know it was only one student. I know they were probably angry and just wanted to find reasons to dislike both me and my class. More than ever before, I've let what students think of me simply roll off my shoulders. Not this time. This kid truly believed that, because I had made some minor mistakes and small misguided decisions that could be misconstrued as racial microaggressions, I did not belong at the school I worked at. They did not think I fit into the "diverse" environment, and they were truly convinced that I could not work with students of color. After I had gotten the tears and anxiety out of the way, I was mostly baffled: How could I, a white teacher who will always have to work on the way they interact with their students because of the racist institutions in place, improve by simply leav...

An Ode To Me by Belinda Roddie Fuck your face - I am the most delightful human being. Special thanks to Matt Malanche for the title and tenth word of this tale!

Don't VenMo Me by Belinda Roddie You owe me two hundred dollars for the bad beers I bought for you for the tequila shots you said were on you but I just swallowed off you instead bare back, bare body, bare-boned vulgarity You owe me two hundred dollars for the extra bottle of Scotch you begged to try once we got back to my place for the cab fare to my sad excuse for a bachelor pad in the middle of nowhere for the pizza delivery because your munchies are equivalent to having to feed little tiny demons so they don't devour my soul instead You owe me two hundred dollars for the dental dams I never used for the finger cots I snagged at CVS and for the heavy use of my own perfume to cleanse yourself of my presence like exorcising the demons who just got stuffed with ham and pineapple You owe me big time, or at least I convince myself of that, as if I'm entitled to financial returns for a night when you just wanted to have fun when you just wante...

Southampton Plaza by Belinda Roddie boy on a scooter eating a coconut shattered skull full of milk full of water full of shredded sins better than buying the bottled stuff at the local hippie shop in front of the dollar store a woman is on her third cigarette and just nearby furry felines await new homes curled up behind glass where their reflections can be seen within the sunset meanwhile here I am thinking I am deep believing I have something poetic to say when instead, all I have are shadows of words that taste sour in suburbia but lack sharpness