When you walk into a room, stride in the wake of your history, let the beauty of your scars speak for themselves. Emanate the awkward grace under fire in your step, projecting the milliseconds of humanity at the cellular level. The survivor in the midst of trouble – written on your moistened chapped lips. Never hate the other – be curious of the point of view being emanated, passing by as you would a beautiful strong Oak tree, taking note of the initials carved in its trunk.
Enough said…