If I mumble my words,
Stare down the floor,
Shove hands into pockets while shuffling my feet,
If I mumble my words,
These clear visions of your dreadlocked brilliance
Will come across as muddy, obscure
And there's nothing hazy about cities resurrecting from slumber
When your unleashed doves give prison inmates a glimpse of hope,
Cause broken warriors to forget their armor,
Outcast women grab on to “not giving up” under floods of sorrow.

But tomorrow, maybe tonight,
At some point you won't be experiencing the sparkle of eyes beginning to dream again,
Applause washing you with acceptance and accolades,
Hands wishing they could send enough soundwaves to sing hymns of...
...all the beauty you deserve.
See, if I mumble my words, you won't receive all the beauty you deserve.

I don't know anything about your family or history
But I hope you have a father who loves you with his arms open and a smile untainted by
disappointment,
Who's already clothed you with innocent colors,
Painted portraits of the worlds you're learning to heal,
Written an unabridged dictionary where every page patiently proclaims,
“Daughter, you couldn't make me any prouder,
I can't believe that your softly stated genius came from me.”

You deserve mountains of love written books lining all your shelves,
Starlight on the ceiling that whispers, “sleep well,”
A mother desperate to bore everyone with endless stories of her artistic daughter
Who donates compassion to grieving children as a substitute for tears,
Who always listens to you and covers your fears with warm blankets that say,
“I'm with you, and there's a batch of your favorite cookies inside.

I don't want to hide or mumble my brotherly desire to fight for your honor,
Protect you from harm,
To learn from your grace and charm how to win hearts and grow up to be just like you,
'Cause it's not in the applause that I see you shine.
I know that sometimes you feel like no one will ever call your name again,
That lights can't fight out enough brightness to convince your senses that they still see,
That even though your voice clearly breathes,
“Believe in yourself.
Make wings of broken feathers.
Don't give up teaching mermaids to climb mountains.”
I know that sometimes those words can't convince your own heart to keep breathing until the skies taste the lips of dawn.

So, I will speak clearly, my friend,
Leave you with a stronger voice than my own,
An ever-present Father whose words never abandon your soul,
A gentler Mother who weaves tears into the fragrance of home,
Brothers and sisters and family rushing to embrace hurt when you're sobbing alone.
I want these words to pull apart walls and ceilings,
Let you hear constellations sing your name,
To resonate free your glistening, newborn skin,
To swim you through the depths and into sunlight's beaming grin,
To tear the veil that keeps your dreams from hearing God's voice say again,
“You were made for this.
I am never leaving.
I will always love you.”