Let Her Flo EP. 4 The Weight of Truth

*"Some truths come at midnight,

demanding to be faced—

between anxiety's whispers

and faith's quiet grace.

Art speaks what lips tremble

to confess in daylight,

while screens hold space

for souls to recognize

what hearts already know.

Tonight Brooklyn holds its breath,

watching past meet present,

watching fear face love,

watching walls become windows

or weapons, depending on

how brave we dare to be."*

—SoulSpeak_Flora (Posted at 3:17 AM)

Poetry Collective Chat:

@VerseLyfe: THE WAY YOU JUST SPOKE TO MY WHOLE SOUL 🙏🏾

@WordsInColor: "walls become windows or weapons" - FELT THAT

@SoulfulScribe: Something different about this piece... deeper

BrooklynSage: Some midnights carry more truth than others.

Your art speaking prophecy tonight.

Ready or not, some walls got to fall.

Morning Light - Dr. Rivers' Office

The familiar scent of sage and old books wrapped around Flora as she settled onto Dr. Rivers' leather couch. Through the window, Brooklyn traffic created its own rhythm.

"Talk to me about these 3 AM posts," Dr. Rivers said gently. "What's keeping you creating when you should be sleeping?"

"Everything feels heavy lately," Flora admitted. "The museum feature coming up. The separation. This connection with Joseph that feels..."

"That feels what?"

"Too real. Too deep. Like he sees straight through every wall I built."

Dr. Rivers opened her Bible, wisdom in her movements. "Let's talk about walls. About why we build them, and what it costs to let them fall."

"The walls," Dr. Rivers settled back, her presence steady and sure. "They started with motherhood, didn't they?"

Flora touched one of her twists nervously. "After Selah's birth. When postpartum hit and nobody understood. Art became my safe space."

"And now?"

"Now art's exposing everything I tried to hide. Every piece I create..." Flora's voice caught. "Joseph sees straight through to the truth beneath."

"And that scares you."

"Everything scares me," Flora admitted. "Being seen this much. Being understood this deep. Having my work in the museum where everyone can judge..."

"Stop right there." Dr. Rivers leaned forward. "Who told you your gift needed anyone's approval? The same God who gave you this talent, gave you the platform."

"But—"

"But nothing. All these walls you built thinking they were protection? Maybe they're just prison now." Dr. Rivers' eyes held loving challenge. "Maybe it's time to let truth do what truth does - set you free."

Flora felt tears threaten. "Even if that truth changes everything?"

"Changes everything?" Dr. Rivers repeated softly. "Or reveals everything that's been waiting to emerge?"

"I'm so tired," Flora whispered, tears finally falling. "Of being afraid. Of second-guessing every feeling. Every connection."

"Tell me about Joseph." Dr. Rivers' voice held no judgment. "About how his understanding of your art scares you."

"He sees me. Really sees me." Flora wiped her eyes. "Not just the pretty parts I show online. He recognizes the shadows in my work, the struggle between faith and fear..."

"And that recognition feels dangerous."

"Because what if it's not real?" Flora's anxiety spilled out. "What if it's just art creating a connection that can't survive reality? What if—"

"What if God himself orchestrated this season?" Dr. Rivers cut in gently. "What if every piece you created at 3 AM was preparing you for this moment?"

Flora stilled, feeling truth land.

"Your gift ain't random, child. Your platform ain't accident. And this connection that sees straight through to your soul?" Dr. Rivers smiled softly. "That ain't coincidence either."

"The museum feature," Flora's voice shook. "Everyone's going to be there. Critics, artists..."

"And?" Dr. Rivers challenged. "Your truth ain't asking their permission to be powerful."

"Joseph will be there too. In person. No more screens between us."

"Mmhmm." Dr. Rivers studied her. "And that scares you more than the critics, doesn't it? Having him see the real you, not just your art?"

Flora's hands twisted in her lap. "What if the connection isn't the same? What if reality disappoints..."

"Baby girl," Dr. Rivers' voice softened. "Reality ain't about to disappoint nothing. It's about to birth something. The question is - you ready to be part of that birthing?"

"I don't know how," Flora admitted. "To be this seen. To be this... wanted."

"Yes you do." Dr. Rivers leaned forward. "Every piece you create speaks that truth. Every time you pour your struggle with anxiety into art, every time you transform fear into digital light - you're practicing being seen."

Flora felt something shift in her spirit. "But this feels bigger than art."

"Because it is." Dr. Rivers smiled. "Some seasons come to change everything. Your job isn't to control that change. Just to be brave enough to flow with it."

"Flow with it?" Flora's laugh held no humor. "When my anxiety barely lets me breathe some days?"

"Then breathe through truth." Dr. Rivers opened her Bible. "David wrote his deepest psalms from his darkest valleys. Your art does the same thing - turns struggle into strength."

"But David was chosen. Special."

"And you think you're not?" Dr. Rivers fixed her with a look. "Your gift touching souls through screens, your daughter speaking prophecy through iPad art, this connection God orchestrated with someone who sees straight through to your spirit?" She paused. "Flora, that's all divine appointment."

Flora wiped fresh tears. "Even the fear? The anxiety that keeps me up creating at night?"

"Especially that. Because what does scripture say about weakness?"

"His power is made perfect in weakness," Flora quoted softly.

"Exactly. So maybe..." Dr. Rivers leaned forward, "maybe all these midnight fears, all these anxious creations, have been preparing you for this exact season. For being seen. Really seen."

Something in Flora's spirit shifted, like truth finding new ground.

Divine Timing

Leaving Dr. Rivers' office, Flora felt lighter, stronger. Brooklyn's afternoon wrapped around her like possibility as she headed to meet her artist friend Kira at their usual coffee spot.

Then she heard a voice from her past:

"Flora Jean-Baptiste?"

She turned to find Lamar "Legacy" Williams, his low cut now seasoned with silver waves that came with wisdom instead of wild youth, designer frames replacing the thick ones he used to push up during AP Literature.

"Legacy?" The old nickname felt familiar on her tongue. "Of all the Brooklyn sidewalks..."

His smile was the same one that used to light up their high school poetry sessions. "Had to double-take. Almost didn't believe it was you until I saw that smile. Still lighting up the whole block."

"Please," Flora laughed, anxiety easing in the presence of old friendship. "You're the one who made it. Saw your production credits on that new Netflix series."

"Speaking of making it..." Lamar's eyes held sincerity. "Been watching your art journey. The way you speak truth through those digital pieces? That's what I always saw in your poetry back in Ms. Johnson's class."

Flora felt warmth that had nothing to do with anxiety. Here was someone who'd known her before - before marriage, before motherhood, before all the masks.

"Remember that poem you wrote junior year?" Lamar asked, falling into step beside her. "The one about dreams being bigger than Brooklyn buildings?"

"You remember that?"

"Girl, I quoted it in my college admission essay." His laugh came easy. "Should've told you back then how your words moved people. But you know how it is at seventeen - too cool to admit anything real."

"Now look at us," Flora felt herself relaxing into the conversation. "Both creating in our own lanes."

"Funny thing about lanes though," Lamar's voice turned thoughtful. "Been watching your recent work. These pieces about anxiety, about faith finding new forms? That's not just art - that's testimony girl."

Flora's phone buzzed - another notification about tonight's poetry session with Joseph. Lamar caught her glance at the screen.

"Speaking of testimony," his smile turned knowing. "The way you and BrooklynSage been feeding the culture lately? That's that real connection. The kind we used to write about but were too young to really understand."

Something in his tone made Flora look up sharply.

"What you mean by 'real connection'?" Flora asked, curiosity peaked.

"That authenticity y'all share. Been watching how your art speaks to each other. Reminds me of them jazz musicians who just know each other's rhythms." Lamar adjusted his frames. "Like back in school - remember how you always knew when someone was writing truth versus just writing words?"

"Still do," Flora smiled. "My daughter Selah's the same way. Sees straight through to what's real."

"That piece about her - about patterns and light? Made me understand my niece better. She's on the spectrum too." Lamar's voice softened. "You still got that same gift, Flo. That thing that made everybody want to share their stories with you. Just now... it's reaching more people."

Her phone lit up with a message from Joseph:

```

Tonight's theme got me thinking.

About fear. About truth.

About how some letters need to be written,

even if they terrify us.

```

"There's that smile," Lamar noticed. "The one that says your art's about to tell some truth."

Flora felt something settle in her spirit - like past and present aligning to prepare her for tonight.

"You know what's wild?" Lamar's voice turned gentle. "You always had this light. Even in high school. But back then you tried to dim it, make it manageable for other people."

"And now?"

"Now?" He gestured to her phone, to Joseph's message still glowing. "Now you letting it shine full force. Your art, your truth about motherhood and anxiety, this connection that got the whole poetry world watching..."

Flora felt her cheeks warm. "It's complicated."

"Best things usually are." Lamar's smile held wisdom. "But that piece you posted last night? About walls becoming windows? That's what I'm talking about. You ain't asking permission to be powerful anymore."

Her phone buzzed again - a reminder about tonight's poetry session. The theme: "Letters to What Scares Us."

"You nervous about tonight?" Lamar asked, reading her expression.

"Terrified," Flora admitted. "Writing truth in front of everyone. With him."

"Good." His response surprised her. "Means it's real enough to matter. Like your art finally finding its true audience."

"True audience?" Flora questioned, anxiety creeping back.

"Come on now," Lamar's eyes held knowing. "The way y'all's art conversations be having? That's souls recognizing each other. Like when Nina wrote for Marvin - some collaborations just destined."

Flora touched her phone where Joseph's message waited. "What if it's just art though? What if in person..."

"In person what? The connection ain't as deep?" Lamar laughed softly. "Nah, see, that's that old fear talking. The one that used to make you read your poems from the back of the class."

His words hit home. Flora remembered that girl - talented but terrified, always trying to make herself smaller.

"Tonight's different though," she said quietly. "Writing these letters to our fears, in front of everyone..."

"With someone who already sees your soul through your art?" Lamar finished. "Sounds like divine timing to me."

Flora's phone lit up with the poetry collective's final reminder:

```

Tonight: "Letters to What Scares Us"

Featured Artists: @SoulSpeak_Flora & @BrooklynSage

Some truth demands witness.

```

"Go be brave," Lamar touched her shoulder gently. "Your soul been waiting for this moment."

Sacred Hours

Later that evening, Flora sat in her creative corner, screens glowing with purpose. Her latest piece - about fear becoming faith - waited on her iPad while the poetry collective's chat filled her laptop.

```

Host: Welcome to "Letters to What Scares Us"

Tonight's special guests @SoulSpeak_Flora and @BrooklynSage

will write to each other without names.

Just truth speaking to truth.

```

Joseph appeared on screen, locs tied back, his presence even through digital space making her heart race. Gone was his usual scholarly polish - tonight he looked raw, real.

"Our first prompt," the host announced. "Write to the fear that keeps you awake."

Flora's fingers moved across her keyboard, Dr. Rivers' words about truth setting free echoing in her mind:

*"Dear Midnight Warrior,

Your walls are as high as mine,

built from different bricks

but reaching the same sky.

I see how you guard your gift,

how you speak in art

when words feel too raw.

Tell me - what scares you more:

the depth of your feeling

or the height of your potential?"*

The chat exploded with reactions as Joseph began his response, his face intense with focused emotion.

Joseph's response flowed through the screen:

*"Dear Beautiful Storm,

they taught me silence was safer

than this thunder in my chest

this lightning in my hands

creating art from old wounds

and new wonderings

been holding space

between doubt and destiny

watching shadows dance

across these fortress walls

I built to keep peace

but your art speaking tongues

making me believe again

in what these walls protect

see, I been guarding this gift

like it might break

if I hold it too close

or share it too deep

but your colors speak languages

my defenses understand

your truth making me brave

in ways I ain't ready to name

tell me:

what scares you more -

the way our art speaks

when we ain't even trying

or how these walls keep falling

every time you create?"*

Flora felt tears threaten as she watched him deliver the words - his usual polished image replaced by raw vulnerability. His eyes found hers through the screen, holding questions that transcended their digital connection.

The collective chat erupted:

```

@VerseLyfe: THE WAY THEY SPEAKING STRAIGHT TO EACH OTHER'S SOULS

@WordsInColor: This ain't even poetry no more, this a whole confession session

@SoulfulScribe: Someone check on my heart real quick

```

Flora's fingers moved across the keys, her heart speaking before anxiety could catch the words:

*"Dear Sacred Question,

who told you broken things

can't hold light?

been watching your art speak

in tongues of fire and fear

each piece a confession

of what your silence protects

see, I create at 3 AM

when anxiety dances with faith

when motherhood meets memory

when every curve and shadow

of who I am

demands to be seen

they say intensity scares love away

that feeling too deep drowns

what we try to save

but your art catches me

like rain in desert lands

making flowers grow

where doubt once lived

tell me truth:

what terrifies you more -

how your walls recognize my wounds

or how my light keeps finding

all the places you thought

you hid

from grace?"*

Through the screen, she watched Joseph close his eyes, absorbing her words. When he opened them, something had shifted - deeper recognition, stronger connection.

"The next prompt," the host's voice seemed distant, "write to the truth you're finally ready to face."

But before Joseph could respond, an unexpected notification lit up everyone's screen...

Next Episode: "Blue Notes & Brooklyn Nights" - In which walls become windows, fear faces love, and two artists learn that sometimes the bravest art is letting yourself be seen. Meanwhile, an unexpected revelation threatens to complicate their growing connection, forcing both Flora and Joseph to decide what's worth risking for real love.