From little dollies,
To sitting in trollies.
Sitting beneath trees,
In the summer breeze.
Not a care I felt,
Nor a worry to feel.
Just me and my friends,
Imaginary or real.
The delight of innocence,
In the simpler days,

As I ponder back to the simpler ways.

The child in me asks
Will we ever find passion
She had big dreams
and was determined to aim for them.

The adult me feels sad
She doesn't know what to say
How do you explain pain,
How do you explain disappointment?

In an old small town at the top of a winding road there sits a small cottage house with boarded windows and a door that looks as though it has been kicked in multiple times. Passersby would assume the house had been abandoned many moons ago, but local townsfolk know that the house is home to the witch.
Though everyone knew the witch wasn’t scary, her house appeared to be haunted, and every fall the school kids would dare each other to survive what they called “the witches tour”. Some kids would come out crying, others laughing. One day, the witch heard a knocking at her door. A little girl, no older than six or seven stood at her door. “Here for a scare, come on in” the witch said while gesturing for the girl to come inside. The little girl entered the witch's home. The witch didn’t know why, but her palms became sweaty and she could feel tightness starting in her chest.
“I’ll start you off easy” the witch told the girl. “I’m not afraid of anything”. The girl responded back. The witch led the girl up the creaky stairs. When they reached the top of the stairs, bats began to fly overhead. The girl didn’t flinch, they kept walking down the cobwebbed hallway. The witch led the girl into her bedroom and told her to open the closet. The girl did as she was told, and opened the closet. Old skeletons started to fall, piling at her feet.
“I’m still not scared”, said the girl to the witch.
“You’re brave, I’ll give you that” said the witch as they walked out of the bedroom back down the hall into the bathroom.  Inside the bathroom, the girl could see the boa wrapped around the toilet, trying to free its long body from the pipes. Again the girl remained calm, not showing any signs of fear. This made the witch frustrated that nothing seemed to scare this child. The witch rushed down the stairs, her boots clacking on the wooden floor. She flung herself into her rocking chair next to the fire. The girl followed the witch downstairs, and sat on a stool in front of the witch. The witch had an idea, and pulled out her big book of fears. The witch began to show pictures of phobias to the girl. The girl looked at them with interest and entertainment. The witch, again frustrated, slammed the book shut, and film of dust floated in the air.
“You have to be afraid of something, everyone is afraid of something” the witch told the girl with exasperation.
“What are you afraid of”? asked the girl. The witch rocked back and forth in her chair. No one had ever asked her that before. “Ghosts”, the witch said with a tremble in her voice, “they always come back to haunt you” whispered the witch.
“Are you afraid of me”? asked the girl.
“Why would I be afraid of a child”? asked the witch, but then she looked closer at the girl and the ache in her chest began to grow tighter and she could feel the sweat form on her palms. “How did you find me”? asked the witch.
“I’ve been looking for you, I need to tell you something” said the girl.
The witch sat frozen in her chair, paralyzed by her greatest fear. The little girl climbed up on the witch's lap, grabbed her face in her small soft hands, and looked the witch in the eyes. “I’m proud of you and I love you” the girl told the witch before she nestled her head into the crook of the witch's neck.
Instinctively, the witch wrapped her arms around the little girl as she began to cry. The witch cried for so long that the little girl fell asleep in her arms. The witch rocked her until she fell asleep too.

In the morning, they woke up and the little girl told her it was time for her to go. The witch begged her to stay. The little girl told her she would always be with her, and to look in the mirror if she ever needed her.
The witch hugged the little girl goodbye and watched her skip down the long, winding road until she was out of sight.
In a small town at the top of a long, winding road, sits a beautiful cottage house with a tall oak tree, and a tire swing where the school kids play. In the house lives the witch, who maybe, never really was a witch after all.

Eat your shame
It doesn’t go away
Regurgitate
like you’re overweight
You need more meat
on your body to hate

She promised to **** him off
in the parking lot
for her drink of choice
She was far too young
for either one
but had nothing left to lose

Swallow your pride
It doesn’t go down easy
Don’t let him see you
cringe in disgust
You need more secrets
to hate yourself for

Cut your skin
wide open
Underneath even you know
you’re worth more
It can only get better
and I don’t take it for granted

Uncomfortable in her skin
unless it was naked
No confidence in
a word she said
unless they were slurred
So she ate her shame
every ******* day
She swallowed her pride
and kept her promises
It all cut her skin wide open

Small boat, tiny port, an island
sleeping under hazy sun.
Mystical moist air, threads
of rose clouds decorate the sky.

On an empty day, the heart
wants for nothing. Radiance
pours abundance into each
instant of being, light's high
testimony chasing ghosts
of memory, sea's great chasm
surrendering to shore's sandy
welcome and the naked dance
of wind in wild palms.

An island alone accepts the risk
of solitude as evening illuminates its own blue glow
and the perfect silence of the stars fills the dark
with its own sweet comfort.

I hate to admit
That dissociation
Is a friend of mine.

Putting myself on autopilot,
Just so I can survive.

Separating from reality,
Because simply living
Is all I’ve got this time.

I wish you could
See me in the state
That I’m in now

Broken, bruised,
So critical.

It’s absolutely pitiful.

I’m tired of feeling low,
But I keep dragging myself
Down,

Sinking and
Caught in the undertow.

Someone wake
Me from this
Mental charade

Because I’m tired
Of all the games,
And the iron bars that
Keep holding me down.

It’s hard to thrive,
When I can’t figure
Out how to figure
Myself out.

Happy anniversary,
Trauma, guilt and
Doubt.

The past is very
Critical and I
Just want out.

I keep waiting
For an answer, but

I know I’m the only
One who lets myself
Down one more time.

I hate to admit
That dissociation
Is a friend of mine.

And I’m sorry,
If I disconnect
Sometimes.

Please don’t give
Up on me now

I just need someone
To make me feel alive
One last time.

I see strangers on the Internet
talk about healing their inner child.
It made me go inward.
Think
and think
and think.

About little me.
Three, five, seven years old.
What she wore
what she ate
what she watched on TV.

How she danced,
twirled on and on
without a care in the world.

And as I saw her in my mind's eye
and felt her in my soul,
my heart was filled with a Great and Terrible Sadness.

Oh, how I've failed her!
I've abandoned her laugh
her warmth
her light.

I traded her valiance for fear,
her voice for silence.
Her smile and bright green eyes
for a dull film over too-pale features.

Oh, my poor, sweet child.
I am endlessly sorry.
I have failed you.
Failed you.
Failed you.

Those strangers on the Internet
want to heal their inner child.

But now
I wonder...
Can my inner child heal me?