in-transit: Perception

She looked at me, inquisitively, as though I spoke my truth exquisitely. My eloquent verbal benevolence caught her by surprise. She gazed into my eyes, as if to spot a glimpse of a disguise she must have been hoping lied inside. Her smiles archived files of the moments when words escaped her, before they had the chance to verbalize. She was coy, cute; curious to know the history. My story. O' the glory of her secret worry that I may very well not be who she was told I'd be, but something far more intriguing: authentic human being. Imagine the conversation with the rest of her population when it is discovered that lucid imagination, paired with ignorance and sprinkled defamation is what births the downfall of a nation. So, may the notion create a sense of devotion to Love and truth; proof that hi(s)tory can be told in a bold manner, without daggers, in an honest way to say, "Yes, his life does matter." That, I am not the narrative some thought imperative to paint on the walls of society, with compromised sobriety. I am not the monster under your bed, nor the voice of danger in your head. "I am just a soul, whose intentions are good. O' Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood."