Where’s your heart at? They ask me
As though it’s not an ***** in my body
As though it’s not beating in my chest and pumping blood to my organs.
My heart can’t be followed
Because it doesn’t move without me
And my heart can’t be broken
Unless it is punctured by a foreign object.

I appreciate the metaphor, I do, I swear that I do
But sometimes metaphors get a little much
My brain is a metaphor
In the way that it thinks.
Do you see what I did there?
Metaphors run my life, run this world
But sometimes I want to shut it off.

Don’t ask me where my heart’s at
When you know that I’m broken and leaking on the floor
And yet somehow still standing firm and tall.
Don’t tell me to follow my heart
When you know that it’s my thoughts that are jumbled in a knotted mess,
Sans heart,
They’re in a different part of the body after all.

I’m tired of living my life in metaphor
At least for tonight
It’s just an excuse for me to hide behind
A way to add beauty to a desolate place
That otherwise would be of concern
And taken care of
And made permanently beautiful instead of metaphorical façade.

There’s a time for poetry
There’s a time for poetic language
There’s a time to follow your heart and see where it goes
To calm the dragon that is your mind
To walk the cobbled windy streets of your thoughts and ponder

But some days you just have to let it drop
And look at the bleak world around you, no makeup, no photoshop,
To remind you that things have to change.

the holes run together to make nothing
                                                          that consumes everything

torn to bits with nothing left to rebuild
                            pulling threads from passersby
                                                      gluing them in spit and sparkles

      forming the fabric of a frayed future
hidden behind that toothy grin that blinds the best of 'em

                              a bit of accidental charm and sparkles turn gems
  catching the moon you just hung

besotted sot
    truth like poison thick on spirited tongue

                                    can't believe what the bottles tout
can't  trust liquid truth in ashen breath

dragons of legend breathe Fireball lies
                      that smell of candy and taste like the death
                      of tomorrow's enamoration

I love my morning coffee,
It is hot and strong,
Like a firm handshake or a warm hug first thing in the morning,
It gives me the masculine strength to start the day and venture into the life of a parent raising a son.

The aroma is familiar and friendly,
One that takes me back to my days at university – the first round I mean.
When time was flexible, and it was ok to live on porridge and rice for five days, and then smoked salmon and cadbury’s chocolate on when I got paid, because there was always someone to buy the next beer.
In that four bedroom shared house, with guests every night, I drank my coffee black, because the milk was always out. Come to think of it, the toilet paper was often out too… so I kept a secret stash.

These days, I add a dollop of thick cream to my coffee in the morning for richness and indulgence,
It whisks me off to a place of my dreams – Pari
Where I imagine myself in flowing skirts, and bright red lipstick
As I laugh loudly to jokes spoken in beautiful **** French by tall handsome men,
Here I can speak French, laugh in French, make love in French and I am honoured as the beautiful Aussie goddess I am.

I’m not sure where said 8 year old is whilst I am in France … I guess he is there riding his bike with the locals and whatever 8 year olds do… but he is not sipping my coffee.

I drink my morning coffee from a great big mug with painted dragon flys on it,
The dragon flys reminds me, everyday is new beginnings,
A chance to transform what was before,
To sore high and far,
And that nothing is ever stuck in one place.

As I towards the end of my cup,
I swirl the coffee and the cream back together,
The temperature has dropped,
The taste is not as strong,
But the impact on my day is for ever, as I return to my place and my life to hear the words ‘mum, what’s for breakfast’.

I love my morning coffee.

The feeling inside me
Was not with me at birth
But instead a gift
From the one who loved me
The most

At ten years old
With a kiss to the cheek
That burned like fire;
A hatred seeped into me
And set me ablaze

In the most painful way its
Smoke billowed out of me
With every breathe I took
While scorching my mouth
On its way out

Until the day
My throat callused over
Leaving me able to breathe
Sweet fire like crisp autumn air

Allowing a dragon
To be reborn
From the scorched pain
Left by its creator

"A Monster!!! A Monster!!!" That is what they all shouted and proclaimed...

But even the wickedness of such a beauty can be tamed...

"It's Coming!!! It's Coming!!!" They screamed as they ran for shelter and protection, fearing it's flame...

But even the most fearsome indestructible beast can be put to great shame...

"Run!!! Run!! It's furry heart can never be softened nor can it's reckless body ever be contained!!!"

But even a retched immoral monster filled with corrupted plots can have a new name...

                             *We Can Be Beautiful Monsters...

"you be the princess and ill be the hero
and i will rescue you from the dragon" he says
she stands confused because she is the princess
but she is also the hero and the dragon is
hers and she doesn't see how he can help

"the spell will be broken by your true loves kiss"
they promised but she knows true love is
a lie and though she's kissed many her dragon stays
and stays and when she takes up
her sword she only hurts herself and the ones she loves

"you should give up" says the dragon
and she almost agrees the hero cannot save even herself
but she puts on her crown drops her sword
and casts a spell she didnt know she had
and the dragon falls to the ground asleep

"she lived happily-ever-after,"
the story says and she knows
not everyone can and that there are more
dragons out there but she has learned
and she is waiting and she will conquer

The dragon sits, above the cliff,
Keeping guard above the village,
His heart, forever stiff,
He's aware that he can pillage.

So he armored his core forever,
Hiding his pain in plain sight,
The love and trust he built in aeons,
Burned in flames forever white.

He still has hope,
He still has dreams,
He can still see into the forever,
And that, perhaps, makes him
More human than ever.

So I bring this edifice, to the dragon,
Forever keeping watch on me,
I am grateful, oh so grateful,
For him listening to my plea.