You, shadow-flicker, curled tight
in the hollow of yesterday’s bones,
I hear your cries echo like wind,
bruised by the corners of memory.
Small fists, clenched, white as teeth,
holding secrets like brittle shells,
every whisper cut from glass—
you, a ghost I’ve never let die.
You thought love was a hand held closed,
a room where the door creaked shut,
and silence sang lullabies
in the cold, in the dark, in the echo.
But here I am, flesh-worn and bruised,
with hands that know now how to hold.
Come, bring your broken pieces,
scatter them like salt on the wound.
Let me gather your sharpest edges,
cradle the shards you feared to spill.
I will be the mother you never had,
I will be the voice that tells you, still:
You are more than these shadows,
more than the dust you once wore.
Come out from the dark, little ghost,
and I’ll show you what light is for.
This poem, “Letter to the Inner Child,” was born from the desire to connect with the parts of ourselves we often leave hidden—the child within us who still carries the echoes of old hurts, fears, and hopes. This inner child often holds memories that time has not fully healed, memories that shape our choices and our ways of coping, even if we don’t always realize it.
Surrendering to the inner child doesn’t mean letting it take over; it means being fully present with it, listening to its voice, and recognizing its needs. It means being compassionate toward the younger self who, despite everything, managed to survive, to grow, and to continue. When we acknowledge this part of ourselves, we open the door to healing because we give space to those feelings that have been silenced or dismissed for so long. We remind that child they are not alone anymore; we are here now, ready to protect, nurture, and guide.
Being present with your inner child is a way of re-parenting yourself—of offering love, safety, and acceptance that might have been missing or felt uncertain before. This is the beginning of deep self-compassion. To look back at our vulnerable selves and say, “You are safe now, and you are seen.” This kind of connection builds strength, not from denying the pain, but from integrating it with understanding.
Remember, your inner child still dreams, still hopes, and still seeks joy. By embracing this part of yourself, you allow those dreams to breathe again, protected by the wisdom and resilience you’ve gained. This journey of acceptance and self-love is not about leaving the past behind but holding it close in a way that lets you heal.
I encourage you today to give both your inner child and your present self grace. This means showing patience when you feel overwhelmed or when past wounds resurface unexpectedly. Grace is about being gentle with yourself on the hard days, forgiving yourself for the times you stumble, and understanding that healing is not a straight line. It’s the act of offering yourself the same compassion, kindness, and space to grow that you would offer a loved one.
When you allow both your inner child and your current self to coexist with grace, you create a safe, nurturing space within that can foster true healing and self-acceptance. As you read this poem, know that this invitation to listen, and speak, to your inner child is a gift—a path toward self-forgiveness, self-protection, and the freedom to live fully, knowing every part of you is honored and whole.
The Twin Tree Project 