Inner Child

Looking back at younger photos of myself always hurts me.

My children look just like me. I see them when I see pictures of me.

And when I think of what I went through with my parents, it hurts. I am here for my babies. I love and love and love them. I apologize when I am wrong.

Because I know, no one did that for that little girl. The pictures of my innocent eyes, my smile, they all feel so fake. I know what you did to me.

I remember all the moments I wish someone would just love me, hug me, kiss me. I wished someone would play with me. I wish someone would comfort me. When someone screamed, I just wanted to be hugged.

I wish someone would’ve seen me like the blessing I see my babies as. As a pure miracle given to you by God himself. An innocent child you decided to bring into the world, just because you can, right?

My inner child, she needs loved. She’s in there, she doesn’t like when people scream, she doesn’t like to be touched. I know she needs more than what the world has given her.

That’s why when I see her, I know I need to strive to always be better for my children. So when they grow up, they know that all they had was pure, unconditional love. They had all their needs met and don’t have to think about their childhood as an event they need to forget.


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