Breathing space
it’s OK — not to be OK sometimes
like when silent grief implodes
becoming an air seeking missile
in a desperate race, with its only target — breathing space
where its anger can free fall and explode
the softest heart oceans deep, wearied bones that crack and creak
bursting veins, bleeding pain
like never ending — driving rain
enter the she-dragon, her tongue a match — ready to strike the Earth into a great ball of flames
breaths of fire like fireworks — painting the most colourful language across the sky
this is your welcome into her silly life, pleased to meet you — loaded with trouble and strife
misunderstood, nonchalant
the heart and mind down in the trenches of their civil war, neither clear — what the fight is for
the day dreamer shadowed by nightmares, screaming loud — running scared
now she’s gone rogue — some might say, armed with such untamed rage
but know — she’s just an ordinary woman, trying to hold on — ready to let go
so, with one hand in her pocket full of grace — and the other balled in a fist — just in case
she exits the room — with her resting bitch face, to find somewhere — with breathing space
