As my thoughts transcend me and out of my spirit visions and dreams overflow, I write a language of complexity, I write what I know. Written images of the unseen, and love, and coveted dreams, I write mysteries upon mysteries of righteous things, of songs no one sings, of elements of man science can't bring. I write where many can't go, Why? Because they don't know what I know. I write what I know. As the nerves in my fingertips tingle with ideas and emotions, guiding the very instrument that will explain me, I write the very essence of a woman's soul and the secret dichotomies of the heart that invisibility shows I write what I know. Do you see, I write what I know? I write... but my pen speaks the language of me.