The poem of Crito

Inner child.

Days I spent alone in my room. 

just waiting for the feeling of warmth, 

waiting for the universe to treat me fair. 

finding meaning, reason for each one of my pains. 

I am so grown now, so much to talk about 

so much to be happy about, so many people praising, 

but it is still me, still the same little person that was shamed for everything I did.

A hurt lonely child, the fear of loneliness, the loneliness that became home. 

It doesn't matter how much you grow or how much you can give yourself, 

the little person that was hurt, the little voices saying you're not good enough, 

every day you wake up and be better than you were yesterday, 

still feeling empty, still feeling like you are nothing but 

what they said you were going to be.