My Inner Two-Year Old

The Inner Child

​A little child
so innocent and free
full of joy and love
uninhibited by those fears
that plague me
so trusting and naive
always forgiving
seeing beauty
in everyone and everything
self-confidently taking on life
bold and daring
risking her all
to capture a world

What happened to that child
within me?

Photo by Zan on Unsplash

Meet My Inner Child

My two year old is wearing a pink frilly dress, blonde hair up in pigtails. But that doesn't stop her from getting dirty, or stripping down to a diaper (or less) for true freedom. She's already a night owl, staying up late to play with her toys, telling stories about her Little People.
 
She is scared of dark places, like under the porch. Her older brothers' friends are so big and make her nervous. [Just like the big publishers.]

My writing is best when I strip down the conventions, stop listening to outside forces. My inner two year old puts on the charm when she gets attention, such as from a good response to my writing. She loves to know others are entertained.
 
She hides from the darkness, the unknown, of the blank page. She has a hard time moving forward without all the corners being lit. Which explains why I outline, plot, and brainstorm before putting anything down on paper.
 
She doesn't have many tantrums. Rather, she is more likely to hide. If someone doesn't like her (or her writing), or she feels ignored (which happened too often in a big family) she gets hurt and hides in a corner or cupboard. It takes a lot of coaxing to get her back out again.

My passion is fantasy. My inner two year old loves to create different worlds, and bring fantastic creatures into our own. One of my childhood "imaginary friends" was a unicorn, and I think that unicorn has been inspiring me ever since.

​Seeking that which is Lost

​I sit cross-legged on oaken floor
loosen my muscles from head to toe;
breathe in the fresh, clean air encompassing me,
eyes settle on a single pink flower
in the vine border of the cream wall before me;
outer vision blurs as I journey within.

Break down unsteady walls of insecurity.
Push through foggy layers of forgetfulness.
Swim through the ever-circling moat of procrastination.
Enter the guarded keep of true self.
Seeking that which is lost.

In the bottomless dungeon? No…
there dwells my heart, held under lock and key.
In the gilded tower? No…
there reside my dreams, gazing at the stars.
I pass through the library,
smiling at my muse crafting inspiration,
and finally find that which I sought
deep within the treasury, dwelling in memories.

I take her hand, this child in me,
coax her to stay by my side,
as I return to focused eyes
on the painted wall before me.