My Cardboard Balcony

To The Person by Belinda Roddie To the person who reported my blog as spam to Facebook: just who the fuck do you think you are? I really am agog because, to report me for fake abuse, you'd have to be a Facebook friend of me! So which of one whom I thought I could trust decided that I was your enemy? Who decided that, "Yes, in fact, I must censor this person's writing instead of, perhaps, unfollowing them or knowing that posting their writing is just the stuff they do?" I don't know who just crowned you king or queen of determining what I can share with my loved ones, but you're not my friend.

Watch Me by Belinda Roddie You may ban my blog, Facebook, but I'ma still write.

Kissed By Gravity by Belinda Roddie I lay crumpled at the bottom of a staircase - fetal position activated, the curve of my body like a rosebud that refuses to blossom, not under the current circumstances. You found me, somehow, singing instead of crying. I guess shock can spring a soul into a musical interlude. And when you found that no bones were broken, you still wanted to splint my spirit, anyway, for it was fractured in at least seventeen places from the fall. Somehow, tea didn't heat me up, nor did damp towels cool the dance cooked up by the tempo of the tune I had thrummed like an overrevved engine. I had felt the laws of physics pull me into their multiarmed goddess embrace. And now there you were, trying to lift me up to a Heaven that I never had the strength to reach.

I Mean, Don't Take Performance Enhancing Drugs by Belinda Roddie Who needs a steroid when you've got love and support?

Way Too Drunk by Belinda Roddie Somehow, I didn't think I was that sloshed on red wine and fully bottled margaritas until I attempted to leave the house through the wobbly door that was actually a portal to another dimension.

I Have Excellent Taste by Belinda Roddie Why, yes, I do want a slick Darth Vader car.

Tremors by Belinda Roddie Mother held me as the pain rippled through my jaw and down my throat down into the chasm of acidic angst and regurgitated regret and more alliterative agony waiting on the back of my tongue Mother held me stroked my hair pressured licorice lips on whipped cream skin, and suddenly, everything tasted sweet for just a moment until the throbbing started again and she held me through the earthquake confined to my bones