Spoken from the heart

The first thing I saw was the road works blocking my way
I could hear the sound of the car radio leading my mind astray
I could smell the beautiful jasmine perfume I had bought the day before
Pulling into the car park, I felt the coldness of the handle as I closed the car door
As I walked across the road with the taste of morning coffee still on my tongue
The feeling of not knowing what to expect gave me the urge to run
Entering the room of ABC National Radio
I sat down, feeling like a school child, from days long ago
Hearing the descriptive words of my home town of Bendigo
I realised how much of this city I am actually willing to let go
Authors described their fictional characters
As I pondered which part of their story really matters
Tales of promiscuous girls trying to find their soul
Question right from wrong in a world that judges all
I hear myself thinking that people can be so unkind
And that at the end of the day, if you're not happy with yourself, you'll lose your mind
I pondered in secret to how my own life is panning out
I am lucky enough to be comfortable in the feeling of doubt
As the morning progressed I found myself in a quaint, dark, theatre room
Filled with school students with personalities to go 'boom'
Charles Jenkins begins the song writing activity
The room is overwhelmed with young, vibrant, positivity
We are all song writers
That we are I thought, as I believe deep down, we are all fighters
There is rhythm in the word rhythm, and melody in the word melody
There is light within us all, even when we feel a little melancholy
The afternoon has settled in and I rush to buy some lunch
I gaze out of the café window, watching in awe the see of uniforms gathered together, bunch by bunch
Into the writing workshop with Jane Curtis I go
Only to realise I'm half an hour late, oh I wish the day would go slow
The room is small and hot
There's a few big personalities in here, it seems they've got a lot
As we go into groups and share our stories
I am taken away yet again my someone else's histories
Moira was talking about just last week
When she walked past a man who gave her some cheek
Moira said she tried her best to walk normal
But as is everyday for her, the Parkinson's disease leaves her feeling abnormal
Within the first five minutes of meeting Moira
I noticed the purple in her hair, her bright red lipstick, and her bubbly personality made me want to join her
Not once did I wander about her illness
Instead I wondered what her lounge room looked like, and if her grandchildren were also filled with kindness
The day had come to an end, and I'm off to pick up my son from school
Only to find out that tonight there was so much more to do, all very cool
It is times like these that being a single mum can be hard
As I can't do everything, I've been dealt my cards
I pull up at the school yard and my son jumps in the car
And I am reminded yet again that there is nowhere else I'd rather be, not over there, not far