Member-only story
Is My Inner Child Dead?
Or Did I Kill It
Today, I looked into the mirror
not to fix my face, but to find myself.
And a question echoed deep within:
“Is this what you dreamed of as a child?”
Is this tired face?
this burdened soul,
What is that innocent little version of me
hoped to become?
Did I lose my smile trying to earn approval?
Did I trade laughter for validation,
and wonder for survival?
Was my inner child smothered by expectations?
Or worse —
did I bury her with my own hands,
to fit into a world that had no space for magic?
I don’t remember the last time I laughed
without checking if it was too loud.
I don’t remember the last time I cried
without hiding it behind a locked door.
Maybe my inner child didn’t die.
Maybe…
She’s just curled up somewhere,
tired of being ignored,
waiting
for me to remember how to dream,
How to play,
How to be me again.
