In your smile, in between your white teeth, there is a crack of skepticism. Don’t tell me you are happy for me. Your bit of skepticism is stuck in your thoughts like a left over piece of kale salad in your mouth. You think of all the otherwises, uncertainties, and tsk-tsk-tsks for me when I never asked you to. I appreciate your gesture. I appreciate you trying in the not-trying. Thank you. But when you smile, I see your crack of ignorance right through you. You think that my voice is small, that my voice is soft, that I am on the wrong track—oh well, please. I may be kind, but I know what loud means. I’ve held a pen that is mightier than the sword. Mightier in Truth and honesty. Did you know that the river keeps flowing? Carving out and smoothening the rocks to silence, the water is gentle and persevering. Kindness flows like that. My voice may be vulnerable, but I will never give up my tongue, my pen, my brush, to craft kindness. So when you smile to pretend, I will smile back at you. And tell you, you got something on your teeth.