Inside I’m sometimes a little tot two yearning for cuddles, a tiny bit blue … without knowing why.
A child lives within … forgiving, I grin.
Whatever ills past, they are now ‘has beens’.
My heart beats soundly as if I were six. My Daddy has died! I weep, no quick fix for the child within.
I’m a child twelve and now I’m ‘the’ mother … not biological but the ‘other’.
The child within hides from burdens quite grim.
It wasn’t my choice, but time turned each page. Teenaged, I look back with dreams of my own.
Ma buried the child; I trod all alone. The child within sleeps, to rise up anew when I’m thirty-two and need laughter. I do.
Two children, no more, though I wanted three. A threat of T.B. gets treated for free.
My childhood returns, turns me to a clown. The wounds of my soul with laughter abound.
These days as I write, that child tease me. “Don’t be an old grouch—you’ve youth … you have me.”
My inner child lives, head-to-toe a kid, who comforts, leads me. Come play and you’ll see.
She died at age twelve, at twelve was reborn. She plays with make-up though my body’s worn.
I skip with delight … sometimes in folks’ sight … and skipping I’ll go—upward toward light
with my child within.