Treasure Chest

Without effort

I fall into that space

where I feel small —

small like a child in a dark room,

something precious

tucked away for safekeeping.

Locked inside the toy chest

of my inner child,

playing pirates,

guarding treasure

with complete devotion.

She doesn't know

she's guarding her own light.

She learned somewhere

before language

it wasn't safe to bloom,

not safe to be seen,

not safe to grow past approval.

So she hid —

and loyalty kept her there.

You can come out now.

The treasure was you

the whole time.

You can come out now.

Nothing to hide.

All this guarding,

all this fight —

you were the light

the whole time.

The spiral tightens.

Protection feels like wisdom.

I collapse inward

and resent the smallness,

forgetting

the armor was built for love.

Who am I protecting?

What am I afraid to lose?

Safety was never earned

by staying contained.

What if the pirates

were imaginary?

What if the chest

was never locked?

You can come out now…

you were the light

the whole time.

Come out now…

nothing to hide.

The treasure was you.

The treasure was you.

The secret isn't a password.

It's remembering.

Nothing essential

can be taken from you.

Protection softens.

The spiral unwinds.

You can come out now.

Safe to leave the room.

You can come out now.

Safe to let them see.

The treasure was you

the whole time.

She was never trapped.

Only waiting.