My Cardboard Balcony

Hot Tea, M'Dear? by Belinda Roddie This may make you drop your silver spoon with a clatter, but what if I told you that Black Lives Still Matter?

Horns & Hoodies by Belinda Roddie That should have been my Halloween costume: An adolescent devil!

Enter, If You Dare by Belinda Roddie A series of irrational actions I could take when my eyes are superglued into a staring contest with the void:  1. Shave my head, so my face can perfectly maintain the shape, color, and texture of a spoiled hard boiled egg. 2. Drink pickle juice straight from the jar - which I actually don't mind doing from time to time, but but in this situation, it would be for the sole purpose of drying out my blood cells and turning me into a second Dead Sea. 3. Paint my nails, but in the weirdest, most clashing hues - hot pinks and swamp greens and sad shithouse red, so no one pays attention to the stained words sticking to my teeth and only to the monstrosities bursting out of my fingers like Lovecraft's racist textual nightmares. 4. Adopt an otter. I will never adopt an otter. They are cute, but my cat would hate me forever. 5. Move to Montana and become a cowboy, including drinking myself to death with the help of the besotted bastards themselves, Jac...

Privilege by Belinda Roddie You can make tough decisions over bubbly? Good for you.

Wait 'Til It Happens In Person by Belinda Roddie Scientific fact: Enby fist bumps are the best fist bumps.

The Book by Belinda Roddie I did not remember writing these words. Then again, I didn't remember writing anything. It had been two weeks since the amnesia had kicked in like the airbags deploying in the car accident. My sedan had been totaled. My brain, dented. Right where it counted. The book was leatherbound and dusty, and it smelled like rainwater and salt. The book had a broken latch and torn out pages like lost fingernails. The book was old and worn down and covered with incessant cerebral scribbles. Scribbles that turned into stream of consciousness sagas and love stories and queer fantasies and ramblings. I read it all. I did not remember any of it. This week's prompt was me just thinking of books. Yay.

Poor François-Marie Arouet by Belinda Roddie Voltaire, you wouldn't last one day in twenty-first century society.