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Breathing space


“man standing on boat” by rabby ahmed on Unsplash

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