It was maybe two years ago that I was sitting at my desk, watching random YouTube videos while eating dry cereal from one of my favorite mugs, when I ran across something that caught my attention. As I scrolled down, a thumbnail showed an image of J. Cole performing on The Late Show with David Letterman and the title read "Be Free." The word free always had the ability to stop me in my tracks, probably because to me those four letters pushed together looked like magic.

I’ve always been familiar with this artist, but me listening to hip-hop -- or rather rap music -- has decreased for no other reason than its lack of substance. But this guy looked relatable like I had seen him before passing through the halls of my high school. I mean, he rocked a hoodie and plain black jeans, and I didn’t realize it initially but he also wore his heart on his sleeve. I pressed play and tears began to blur my already-not-so-great-vision. I could hear and sense the pain in the depth of his vocals as soon as he opened his mouth.

It was like he was pleading for the only thing that made him feel human, freedom. The song was finished and the chorus still decorated my temporal lobe. The verses mainly spoke about social injustices in the black communities but the chorus forced me to examine my foundation. They echoed in a place that I never realized was empty

"All we want to do is take the chains off
all we want to do is break the chains off
all we want to do is be free."

It was in that instant that I recognized that I wanted to be free, and I was indeed imprisoned by the opinions of others. Undisguised, liberated and open. I imagine that is what freedom looked like. I always wanted to be a writer, anything that would allow me to convey my feelings, thoughts and emotions unapologetically. I have always been a creator, a thinker and mental time traveler. I would vanish for hours buried in my grandmother’s taupe loveseat, writing about things that I truly had no real knowledge of but that never concerned me.

I was able to be alone with a gift, and unwrap it in a time that was all my own and I was brilliant! I entertained every sound, motion, smell, and color that accompanied my space. I wasn’t familiar with boundaries. I allowed myself to be present and sink into what I decided was beautiful. In my mind the term “no” was fictional, It only existed when I asked my parents for the millionth time if I could have something. I allowed my younger self to be innocent and untainted.

I splashed ink on the outside of the lines and scribbled trigger words along the edges of lined paper. Words were windows impressed on the walls of my soul and that is how I chose to see. I only knew to be transparent, and I could only relate to walls when they were just simply holding up an entrance. There were no words to truthfully describe how it felt to have a pen in my hand. I would close my eyes, stretch my arms to either side and fall back into the sea of things I hoped for.

I have always been enamored by the resilience and tenacity of a youthful mind. They dare to say yes until someone installs a no. I realize that I miss giving into my “yes” and childlike ingenuity. I miss not being who I am to appease a society that doesn’t commonly embrace distinctiveness. As an adult, I allowed myself to accept a “no” when the child in me would have found another path and demanded a “yes.” How did I leave my creative independence to hang on a cross and deny the resurrection?

I recently asked myself a question and I now ask you the same, “If you gave to yourself what you continuously give to others, where would you be? What would you accomplish? How would you live?” As I write these words, my head has dropped a little and the chorus has made its way from my thoughts to my soul; I think to myself “all this time, you thought you were free.”