You see injustices that others gloss over, you speak up for equality. You demand equal rights for mythical creatures and humans alike.
You create. You make worlds and homes, families and cities. You write declarations, you draw scenes, you set up tableaux, you assign everyone to their clan. You have notebooks filled with the work of your busy pencil, always multitasking while I read your bedtime story.
You are funny; funnier, perhaps than the deep, wise dragons of old who hid their dry humour far inside and scorned the silly. At their peril. You find kindred spirits in those who get the joke, who see the tiny curve of your mouth and know you’re waiting to see what they say, that this was a test. Those who pass are honoured.
You do not always sheathe your talons. But you can be caught unawares in moments of tenderness, looking out for small children, loving the stupid fluffy cats, snuggling up.
You are strong and skillful and brave. You walk the high wire, you ride on one wheel, you keep trying. You work hard for what you want, ignoring bruised shins and bumped elbows until you have mastery.
You speak in tongues: dog, Russian, nonsense, hieroglyphics. You are a linguist. You want to learn more words, more ways to say it. You obfuscate. You calculate. You want more, bigger, harder math. You burn with the desire to know more.
You know your mind, and you know who you are. It’s hard being you sometimes, but nobody else is so much, so magnificent.
You are my dragon girl: hard to decipher, challenging to guide, a delight to be in league with, an honour to love.