If you had one thing to tell your inner child,

If I could whisper to the child I was,
Before the world began its cruel applause,
Before the sun could warm your trusting face,
I'd etch this warning deep within that space:

"Never trust. Not one. Not in this brittle sphere.
Hold every secret, quell the urge to share.
Especially the chapters of your past,
How you were shaped, how fragile hopes were cast.
The quiet struggles, every whispered scar,
Guard them like treasures, no matter who they are.

For someday, darling, with a careless sigh,
A loose tongue will find purchase in a lie.
They'll twist your story, tarnish every name,
And fan a bitter, vengeful, burning flame.
A vicious vendetta, born of what they heard,
Will stalk your peace, an ugly, cutting word.

So play it safe, enclose your spirit deep,
Let silence be the promise you will keep.
Let no one in, beyond the shallowest plea,
For what they learn, they'll wield against you, see?
Nobody's your friend, my love, no helping hand,
No soul who truly seeks to understand.

And though this truth escapes my weary breath,
A lonely knowledge, close as life and death:
Nobody believes me, no, not one soul hears
The depth of caution, born of bitter tears.
But listen, child, forget the tender grace—
Put on the armor, guard your sacred space."