The words, a wisdom from their mouth you could care less about. Now radicalized in new color, some which are unearthed each time you progress toward the stillness of simple things. Like that random sound mixing in the hood with other sounds. How those multiple sounds create a symphonic bliss in your head as they track with the natural symphony you’ve curated since birth. They can’t understand the rapid way in which your blood pushes it and makes you even less confused. I can’t either, but I’m going to be different. I wish you could all come with me, but you can’t. I have to sail away in this state with my young family. We have to be willing to continue on in love and color. Continue in poetry of the littlest things we see in a day. Adhere to the most silent voices, the silent ones that whisper in the dark to believe in yourself, to believe in the heart of what you are becoming, regardless if “they” understand how willing you actually can be in becoming who you are.  I hear it and I’m here.