Your wild inner child is obviously broken
Despite big smile your words when spoken
Seem to bleed from lack of something
Could it be a dream or just a need to scream
You tell stories of never being allowed
The little things of past precious child
You feel you raised siblings at home
While still a child when days were long
Your body grew into womanhood
But it’s true your inner child stood
Stuck in time in limbo as little kid
Life wasn’t simple and you did
Eventually fall in love with a teen
Who for you bore kids despite dream
To be an artist and be so esteemed
You’re trapped by life you want things
The little kid inside wasn’t ready to be
A mother a wife as destiny winds sing
Perhaps next lifetime you will find
All your hopes and dreams in time
I am grateful to have people in my life…
who always make me smile…
They’re the ones who understand
the art to growing up
is to never close the doorway
to their inner child.
They say he has a sweet soul, yet I'm in dismay, my mind feels burdened, like it's filled with
decayed clay.
In fear, I reel from the chaos each day, setbacks and self-sabotage lead me astray.
Oh, please, don't let my thoughts lead me away.
Each day is a battle to keep the wolves at bay; I must remind myself, not every sky is grey.
This sweet soul hides a dark hole where my inner child lays, praying in shadows that
today's the day I'm not finally afraid.
He has a sweet soul, but they can't see the mental toll, how heavy my mind weighs on
my ability to behold, the world clearly illuminated, like a story untold.
It takes much to control and patrol my inner night, as my demons needs soothing and
rest to find light.
Life shines through the windows of my sole
Searching, yearning the meaning of life's goal
Ages of trials and tribulations
Memories deep beneath formed notions
A prayer to Creator for guiding light
"Child within, your true self is bright
Truth, compassion and tolerance is right"
My childhood delight soared with whistling wind,
rainbow kites I loved to fly in its trail.
My color paper boats silver stream sailed
to fantasy land with infantile dreams.
Those boats and kites I can’t retrieve from past,
childhood fond memory hasn’t left me,
my inner child sees these charmed in twilight.
There were times when I lost him
junked in a corporate race
the boy who climbed broke a limb,
once dressed in his mother's lace;
dreams of boundless innocence.
Yet he is still there, I swear;
grandson asked me; if I dare …
Ever since my remembrances began,
a large number of them have been entwined
with feelings of great pleasure in my mind.
I skated, hopped on rides, danced, biked and swam.
Labor I shunned. I'm more to fun inclined.
Some fun of mine I've had to leave behind,
yet always I will be a Peter Pan!
My inner child protects my heart and soul
but still allows me to be in control.
She knows my secrets, and will not reveal
my thoughts or sometimes how I really feel.
At times my inner child comes to the fore
this is the part of her I do adore
because, in truth she is my very core.
You tried to murder her inner child,
but she was simply to wild
for your cage to capture her essence.
She is an incandescent spirit,
your vile soul can only fear it~
return to your dungeon of doom,
and to the curse of your darkened tomb!
My inner child remembers those days
When life was simple and full of praise
For doing good and rejecting that maze
Of anything bad, which caused a craze.
Oh, how I miss those firm, clear-cut ways
A choice was grasped from "yes or no" trays-
And not from jumbled "this or that" sways.
the child within me speaks too soon
before the words are filtered clean
raw gut feelings gush out
brimming with unguarded emotions
flickering like a candle's flame,
hoping their candid naivety
can be caught, felt, tasted—before snuffed out
This hand which moves and rides some voice is not mine.
I give it over to you, young boy. This is what makes it fly so,
traveling out, tripping along in dance of shape and sound.
I acknowledge your presence in this fashion.
You tell me by the messages beaming out the back of your head,
you are the very boy who has waited an eternity
at some upper railing. You sit and peer through the spaces,
down the twisted stair. Your hands, they grip the vertical rail.
Silent. Silent. Waiting you.
Let this right hand of mine be your secret voice.
Let this scrawl and scratch be your gravelly tongue—
Ick-nicking, ga-chooing, click stutter.
What languages may I shape for our own sake?
With you, may I follow, setting trail markers just so.
Will others come mistaking their ways for yours?
My hand is opening and opens wide.
I remember you. I am returning.
Let it be.
Let us awaken the child within
~ with whom we are never without
A tender ache
hermits my soul—
so far from what I thought
the world would be
when I was
a wide-eyed girl of three.
Now, forty-four,
reality seeps in.
The dream I conjured
was far kinder
than the life
I’m now gowned in.
My body—
a sponge of pain—
soaked in old trauma,
dripping regret,
sinking in secret.
Sit beside me
and tell me it’s true—
that dreams born
will still unfold,
that love is real,
that kindness lingers.
So tell me—
somewhere beneath the grip,
does a softer haven hold?
Does the child I once was
still have a place
to rest her head—
to lay down all she’s carried,
and be held
by the world
in its cradled hands?
You're never too old
to be young
at heart
even Freud was Jung
from the very start
altho' childbirth
is a labour of love
it's all in the swing
of things
and to about-face
child discipline
is strictly a case
of heir conditioning
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