The inner child has been brutally beaten and eviscerated of late and through her childhood. I can’t change her parents or what they did. I (as the adult now in charge) can only intervene — which is a great thing — to see that she receives the protection she never had. And kindness. Respect and acknowledgment in the long healing process.
And play! Play is healing. Play — “spiel” in German — was neither word nor reality in childhood. The “spiel” there sprung forth, appropriately enough, because in many ways, my childhood was as bleakly dark German as one familiar with that culture might imagine. As I always say, I didn’t have a childhood, I had a workhood and a slavehood. Not here to rub those old wounds, rather to let that little girl deprived of play do just that. Play.
Play with Prompts! Found this site of writing prompts aimed at kids, 20 prompts to be exact.
Didn’t read ’em, rather just picked a number … 18. Will roll with whatever it is. Let’s see what it says!
“Write a poem in the form of a letter to someone you miss.”
Fun! And completely off the cuff. Here we go.
Oh little boy, so cute ‘n’ curly
your hair as if wrapped at the beauty salon
Your teeth white but not so pearly
the eggshell shade of an eagle’s talon.
Oh little boy, you rambunctious lad
galavanting off far away and wide
for your devilish adventures to be had
tomcatting it, no one at your side.
Oh little boy, you’re a what you say?
A father. Again?! How could that be?
Oh, we all know as we know the sun each day
Charlie, you’re a rascal humping all ladies you see!
Oh Charlie, I miss you so.
Black curls and doggy breath ever with me.
Your crafty crawls under fences are never forgotten
Neither your 100 pups so conceived ill-gotten!
I love you, Charlie. (terrier and poodle mix and dog of childhood)