Some things are best kept to myself. 

Perhaps this is true.  But tell it to the drone of longings in a human heart.  To the frenzy of birds punctuating dawn.  Tell it to the music, the crickets, the bees.  Tell it to the fugitive words, free-spirited, spilled out my fatly pollinated mouth just yesterday.  Words indelible, critical, and infused with the scent of full bodied magic marker.  Luckily to a very specific and trusted friend, who herself is a modicum of grace.  As for me, I learned what gardening is necessary.  As one opens, as one speaks, nuances are revealed.

Everything we say matters.

This is another matter entirely.  Something I’ve been working to cultivate.  Let me be a force for good, trustworthy and spirited, and when my mouth has fully opened its petals, let them be beautiful and kind.  Worthy of being kissed by the gentle sun, seductive in his just-dawned robe and slippers and I equally underdressed for the occasion.  Truth is natural, with glowing blossoms and the biggest smile. 

To thine own self be true.

If you were me, this proclamation your mom would say until it became a mantra.  It means you maneuvered down a lonely country road amidst pelting cloudbursts doing all sorts of insane things.  The air would be lavender scented as you plunged into embarrassing situation after embarrassing situation with the renegade zeal of an elf.  There would be no speed limits here, no yellow signs.  Onlookers shaking their heads, but you’d simply not settle for less than yourself cracked open.  And then the light comes with raindrops to minister your thirst.