There's so much stuff that you see every day that you want to

Hear the words of the modern poet of the streets, Polo G, who declared: “There’s so much stuff that you see every day that you want to talk about, but I’m not the type to open up, so the only way I could open up is through music.” These words are both confession and revelation. For he unveils the struggle of many souls: the weight of untold stories pressing upon the heart, the desire to speak yet the fear of being vulnerable. In his words, we find a truth as ancient as humanity itself—that when the tongue falters, art becomes the language of the soul.

There are many who walk among us carrying burdens unseen: pain from the past, memories of hardship, visions of injustice, longings for love and peace. These things cry out for release, but not all men are born to lay bare their souls in speech. Some are guarded, some are wounded, some are shaped by worlds where silence is safer than truth. Yet even the silent long to be heard. For this reason, Polo G turns to music—a sanctuary where his guarded heart may finally open, where thoughts unsaid find voice, where silence itself is broken by rhythm and rhyme.

History bears witness to this pattern. Consider the ancient Negro spirituals sung by enslaved people. They lived in a world where to speak openly of freedom and sorrow was to risk punishment, but through song they could weep, hope, resist, and pray. Their music became their voice, their testimony, their cry to heaven and to history. Just as Polo G speaks of opening up through music, so too did generations before him turn silence into melody, sorrow into harmony, and despair into hope.

And is this not the story of so many artists? Beethoven, deaf in body but roaring with sound in his soul, poured into his symphonies the grief and triumph he could not fully explain in words. Frida Kahlo, though not a musician but a painter, transformed her suffering into vivid art, speaking through images what she could not always say aloud. In every age, those who cannot open their hearts with speech have found a different path, and through that path, they speak to countless souls who share the same silence.

The meaning of Polo G’s words is therefore profound: music is not merely a craft of entertainment, but a lifeline for those who struggle with expression. It is the hidden tongue of the wounded heart, the translator of the unspoken. To make music is to unchain what has been bound, to reveal what has been buried, to tell the truth without the fear that plain speech may bring.

The lesson is clear: you too must find your voice, even if not through music. If your lips tremble to speak, let your hands write, let your body paint, let your spirit sing. Do not let silence consume your story, for silence is a prison, but expression is freedom. Like Polo G, find the vessel that allows you to open up—whether melody, poem, canvas, or craft. The world needs not only the polished speeches of the bold but the hidden truths of the guarded, revealed through the art that only they can make.

Practical action lies before you. Each day, give yourself a moment to express, whether in private or in public. Write your thoughts in a journal, hum a tune that reflects your mood, sketch the shadow of your heart, or whisper your truths in prayer. Slowly, your silence will become form, and your guarded heart will discover release. In time, others may hear your creation and discover that they too are not alone in their silence.

So let the teaching of Polo G endure: that even the quiet soul can roar through art. Music—or whatever form you choose—can carry what the tongue cannot. Do not be ashamed of silence, but do not remain trapped in it. Find your instrument, and through it, open your heart to the world. For in that opening lies healing, connection, and the eternal song of the human spirit.