21d (edited) • General discussion
Inner Child
I want to cry loud enough to split the sky,
and scream until the fire names me whole.
I want to curl into the shape of the little girl
who learned too early that safety could shake.
She is here again-
small, watchful, trembling at the edge of tomorrow,
feeling the floor shift beneath her bare feet,
feeling anxiety creep like smoke under a locked door.
She has survived worse.
She knows this.
And still, the body remembers in its own language:
hospital light, medicine, the ache of being touched by fear,
the terrible question of whether flesh is strong enough
for the next becoming.
Words do not come easy.
They gather like rain behind the ribs.
I do not want to burden anyone
with the raw and shaking truth:
I am scared.
I am lonely.
I am learning myself again
in the ashes of what I thought had healed.
Old wounds open with new names.
Old patterns rise wearing fresh faces.
And I, clear-eyed and exhausted,
know there is no path but through.
So here stands the warrior-
not shining, not unbroken,
but dragging her limbs like sacred stone,
dreams still flickering in her hands,
gratitude still breathing in her chest,
even with bricks tied to her feet.
And somehow, while the body sinks,
the soul still lifts.
Somehow I can stare into the sky
and feel something winged inside me
refuse to die.
There is an urge to weep fire,
to let the heavens crack open with it,
to rage until the stars confess
what all this pain is trying to make of me.
But tonight, I do not burn the world down.
Tonight, I become the vessel
that can hold the flame.
I let the child tremble.
I let the woman witness.
I let the warrior rest her heavy sword
and call survival holy.
If I must begin again,
then let it be not as ruin-
but as ritual.
Not as ending-
but as omen.
The sky does not split.
The fire does not consume me.
It names me.
And in the naming,
I remember:
Even here,
even scared,
even shaking,
I am still becoming.
#poetry #shadowwork #selfcaresunday
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Inner Child
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