My Cardboard Balcony

Tri-Tip by Belinda Roddie Tri-tip, roasted potatoes, broccoli, and wine made up our annivers'ry feast, and of course, we popped open the bubbly and toasted to four years. It's been a beast, this cluster of four years, but we've endured, our marriage growing stronger ev'ry day, the laughter and the happiness procured, as we, in many ways, are very gay. This is the only time I will demand "FOUR MORE YEARS!" Yes, for our love, I'll take that, and more than four years as well - that'd be grand. As we grow older, we'll adopt more cats, buy a house, and raise children. My teenage self will understand, despite prior rage.

Job To Do by Belinda Roddie I'm an unapologetic gay enby calling out your racist ass.

My Heart Is Full by Belinda Roddie There wasn't really anyone I could play pat-a-cake with when I was a kid, or anyone to write in my diary about. Being lonely in youth is a rough road, but when you're an adult, you gotta drive it in an old as shit car. Good thing I've got friends with the same neuroses and psychoses, things we can share over hot cocoa and brinner, ginger ale and lime, music and shared playlists. Life ain't an easy game, but it's nice to play it with the folks I love.

Social Media Endorses White Supremacy by Belinda Roddie I've seen violent racist comments permitted by Facebook. Fuck you.

Alone Time by Belinda Roddie I will be exactly where you left me yesterday: Drinking lukewarm tea with the bag still drowning in the ceramic abyss; Reading the same newspaper until the heat of my own fingers melts away the urgency; Ignoring the tinned laughter of sitcom reruns on a television set older than I am, and it has seen some serious shit, my dude; Continually rotating my left ankle like it's an awkward cylindrical planet rotating on an axis that technically violates the laws of physics; Wondering why I can't stop rotating my left ankle like it'll fall off if I stop - just drop, like wet clay; Contemplate mortality and heavily question why I still have Bibles in my house because they provide absolutely no comfort; And finally, checking my phone every ten or so minutes to see if you read my messages, or called me back, or already wrote me a eulogy, or simply disappeared.

Selective Barbarian by Belinda Roddie  Sometimes, I just get mad and hit things. But never people.

No Words by Belinda Roddie I wanted to tell her everything. But my lips froze.