Dragons Are Real

At a young age there’s whimsy everywhere. Everything is new and beautiful, and it’s a place where fairies, unicorns, trolls, and dragons are not only practical to exist, but also to believed in.

We grow up and this illusion fades, forgotten, until we see another child’s rainbow tinted eyes. Then we remember the beast’s and mythical creatures we once put stock in.

But these things don’t disappear with time, they only change. Change into a far less pretty reality. Dragons are real. I know because one lives in me. Some live in you.

They lives in caves. Caves within ourselves.

This is where they curl and uncurl and curl again. Where they scrape every surface as they walk amiss inside your stomach, up your ribs, and into your throat and down again.

Where scales scratch your nerves in a way that makes you dizzy.

Where it expands it’s wings at times unwarned and takes so much space you didn’t know you had in you until the talons stuck there too.

Where it’ll will charge right at the walls in your throat.

Where it’ll, in the most difficult times, unleash its burning breath inside your chest and scorch every nerve and security.

My dragons called Anxiety. But there’s others too. Loneliness, depression, and bitterness are just a few.

What’s living inside of you?

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