I wrote this piece a few years ago, when I was in the throws of inner child work and writing my memoir. It was messy, painful and incredibly dark. Writing carried me through. This song is the kintsugi.
Lyrics:
I call to her. Come child.
She is feral wild free;
The original me; the little baby.
Those curls, they wave soft
In a room with no breeze
Stagnant and waiting she stacks
Block after block;
Bright colors swirl from fingers
Which have learned to ignore
The chaos; travel dimensions
Into imagination. Near death.
Lost breath. Half deaf.
Come, Little One,
Into the sun we will shine
Together. Mother, daughter
Away from the slaughter of
Human cells, the dissection
Of genomes into catacombs
Storing trauma after trauma;
We must clean the gutters
To find the one who arrived
Pure and uncluttered.
There is a cliff above the sea
Where we stood hand in hand,
The grey one and me,
Smiling so softly listening
To waves crash on rocks we
Couldn’t even hear the screams
That would emerge
From the distance. she begs
To stay, not go back. stay
Here in the peaceful beauty
Did she understand one day
It would all become clear;
The horror of jumping here.
Empath love. Silent one.
Observing. Washing the pain
To be completely whole again.
She will show the earth her
Masterful resilience, attained
Through nights of weeping,
Seeping out the truth that
Not even she can fathom;
The painful things human do.
Lay, sweet child. Rest a while.
For you are a woman preparing
To fight the brutal battle
Where mankind will wield
The swords of judgment in
Attempts to hide and you will
Not comply.
Respite.
Be Ready.
Have you read my memoir, Cult Child?
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Vennie Kocsis 