Dear Grown-Up Me (A Poem from the Inside)

I am Celebrating my Birthday today, and my Little One gave me a Message.

Poem:

Hi, it’s me.
The one you used to sing to in the bathtub,
the one who blew dancing fairies from dandelions,
whispered secrets to the trees,
and patted stripey caterpillars...
(and maybe even ate a few—so they told me, I did.)

I just wanted to say—
thank you
for not forgetting all of me,
even when the world told you
to grow up,
to be quiet,
to button your lip,
to keep in line,
and wear shoes.

I still live here,
in the warm space behind your ribs,
where giggles bounce like kookaburra songs
through gum leaves,
and your dreams nap
on kaleidoscope quilts of maybe.

I miss the way you used to twirl
for no reason,
how you swung your legs a little bit higher
over Dya-Do,
on every swing you came across.
(I’ve seen you put one in your home, recently.)

How your freckles were kisses from the sun—
and that was your little secret.

Sometimes,
when you’re asleep
or looking the other way,
I pirouette on your breath
and send dandelion wishes
into the folds of your dreams.

Do you remember when we believed
that anything could happen?
That the moon had a smile,
and puddles were portals
to upside-down worlds?

You still believe… a little.
I can feel it.
I see it when you cry over beauty,
when you pause to marvel
at sunlight in a stranger’s smile,
or when your heart skips
at the heady scent of jasmine.

I know the world can be
too loud,
too sharp.
I’ve felt you bracing, holding in,
burdened by being good,
trying to be brave
in a grown-up kind of way.

But sweetie—
you don’t always have to be brave.
You can just be.
You can fall into softness,
back into the arms of wonder.
I’ll catch you. I promise.

I’m still here,
with pockets full of magic dust,
a wild imagination that’s never left,
and a voice that still sings
to shadows
and broken things.

Let me sing with you.
Let’s write in the dirt with sticks.
Let’s eat berries with stained fingers.
Let’s cry when we need to,
and laugh until we pee our knickers.

Let’s hold hands with life again
like it’s a best friend
we haven’t seen in ages.

And when the dark feels scary,
we will build a fort,
and rest for a while.

I’ll bring you
a blanket made of lullabies,
and wrap you in the knowing—
that you are loved.
Always.
Even when you forget.

Love,
the tiny wild you
with grass-stained toes
and stardust twinkles in your eyes.

~ Lulu Trevena

Childhood photo around 4 years old