Be harsh - I won't cry, I promise!
- - - - - - -
My inner child likes chocolate.
She gets it everywhere.
It stains her Flintstones T-shirt and
it dyes her golden hair.
She reads A. A. Milne upside down,
dad’s glasses on her nose,
then will recite it word-perfect
as though it’s Cervantes’ prose.
She paints modern masterpieces
that she offers to her gran.
Her gran may not know what they are
but she’s her biggest fan.
My inner child writes poetry
about cats and ladybirds.
She tries to complete crosswords in
an attempt to learn new words.
She loves sports, she’s energetic,
she’s always raring to go.
She asks questions to get answers
her mum doesn’t always know.
She's learned all of her times tables
(to twelve times twelve, at least).
She begs her parents for a pet
and befriends any beast.
Doesn’t think about her future
(it’s so very far away!),
for her, it is light years from now;
For me, it is today.
I see her every now and then –
though less as time goes on –
on holiday or in the park,
but soon enough, she’s gone.
I do not approach her often,
wherever she may be.
Although I know my inner child,
she doesn't know she'll become me.
