No Signs of Hate

Smack. Right in the face. How silence speaks volumes. The human body has perfectly evolved to communicate its messages, its unspoken world. And it executes with perfection, casual, efficient. The mental thought had not yet become words. How glances and gazes bewilder. How the ego I always knew and believed to be strong, felt a graze. My identity it seems is ever-changing. But it must come from within, something so beautifully detailed: my core, my values, my dreams, my I'm going where I'm going, I'm happy to be me. And I am happy to be me, and I want others to be themselves. And in the spoken words, the direct conversations, where eyes meet, and teeth bare, no signs of hate.

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