Inner Child

My inner child worked long, hard hours for no compensatory pay.

My inner child walked the corner of Faith and Love, only to fall into the gutter of keeping things between us at the end of the day.

My inner child answered every question correctly and still had to learn their lesson the hard way.

My inner child danced the organ grinder’s jig, whirling and kicking for dimes, and whispered favors gone unpaid.

My inner child offed itself at the tender age of six. Rising again, my outer adult, with the understanding there's no way out.

My inner child knows not to want. Wanting is a fun-house mirror trap; the faster you run towards your goal, the harder you hit your head and fall.

My inner child was born wrinkled and alert, while my outer adult is consistently told to act its age. Well, I won’t have it; I am not amused; I will reside in whatever age I choose.

I distinctly recall the phrases “When you grow up” and “Be whatever you want” haphazardly bandied about. Excuse me if I take you up and choose freedom as I depart, unflinchingly turn my back, and play an entirely new part.

K.B. Silver

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"An old soul." "Wise beyond her years." "Smarter than half the adults I know." "She'd get bored being with other kids her age." "She already looks grown." I can't even remember all of the times and ways people publicly excused their abuse by implying it was actually good for me or that I deserved it. Children are children, no matter their intelligence or size. Abusers love to take all responsibility off their own shoulders. They love to feel justified, to believe they are doing you a favor by hurting you, because they deserve whatever they want, no matter how depraved, but you, you deserve to serve them.