Hidden Message
Some people might think my expression is wrong a bad direction, a sinful or self-righteous act. Don’t people see something beautiful, not just a person who can be beautiful even pretty but also a person who wants to look it. Like little pink flowers drawn in an incomparable delicate pure white mosaic but sometimes fragile that calms one nerve. My mosaic lifted up day to day through quiet prayers slowly being answered.
Maybe I should have kept it a secret, something not revealed hidden, a reflection both mental and physical, never touched or known. Keeping a fabricated half-truth to keep everyone content. A reality that everyone wants to believe and see, a lie, something to be comfortable with. A broken mosaic held only by a light and close connections.
I have kept myself hidden, daily, memories of a lifetime buried, withering away day to day. Knowing to be transparent would lead to hurt, pain, and rejection. A step taken without regret, having an existence that is true. Knowing society norms, standards, and inclinations to false realities fits in but being something genuine, is right.
I’m a pink rose masked behind soft candlelight, revealing one through soft words.
Vivianne Summers
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Pandora's Box
Pandora's Box
Hidden in a Pandora box, a perfect square, black outside but a pink inside.
A little princess gazing upward, staring at a bright light shining, laying down on a green field, patches of pink lilies and roses leaving a soothing aroma.
A box inside with sides of friends, family, and society life experiences and paradoxes.
Reflecting on the outside a mold. Made to fit everyone expectations and desires, conforming to society over time. Always a box, with a light shining through the exterior from above.
A box now shattered partially, only revealing a young lady, speaking mannered thoughts and writing in distinctly soft words. An inner beauty, exquisite, a lady wanting to express herself.
A box not revealed to keep friends, family, and society unconcerned, a mask carefully planted. Strong, determined, masculine, willing, living the very ideals society believes. I'm physically caged, in a box, a choice not made.
Hiding someone beautiful, warm, elegant, delicate, and dainty seen through enchanting crystal eyes and eloquent words.
The very core of my strength, the essence, depended on daily, but fully hidden, screaming to be heard and seen. A enchanting princess adorned in white holding hands to the air, looking upon the light, looking upon a pink butterfly hovering in the air looking upon oneself. An ice princess.
Vivianne
Hidden in a Pandora box, a perfect square, black outside but a pink inside.
A little princess gazing upward, staring at a bright light shining, laying down on a green field, patches of pink lilies and roses leaving a soothing aroma.
A box inside with sides of friends, family, and society life experiences and paradoxes.
Reflecting on the outside a mold. Made to fit everyone expectations and desires, conforming to society over time. Always a box, with a light shining through the exterior from above.
A box now shattered partially, only revealing a young lady, speaking mannered thoughts and writing in distinctly soft words. An inner beauty, exquisite, a lady wanting to express herself.
A box not revealed to keep friends, family, and society unconcerned, a mask carefully planted. Strong, determined, masculine, willing, living the very ideals society believes. I'm physically caged, in a box, a choice not made.
Hiding someone beautiful, warm, elegant, delicate, and dainty seen through enchanting crystal eyes and eloquent words.
The very core of my strength, the essence, depended on daily, but fully hidden, screaming to be heard and seen. A enchanting princess adorned in white holding hands to the air, looking upon the light, looking upon a pink butterfly hovering in the air looking upon oneself. An ice princess.
Vivianne
Monday, March 9, 2009
(random thought)
Random thought
Society trains you that being physically male means you have to think, act, and react male. A superficial lie, etched in stone.
Even being your thinking about silk soft stocking gently touching the skin or glistening transparent romantic dress, is treated with equal disdain. If talked about laughed at, treated as a sinful thought. Such prejudice this society lies behind; hiding hate and the thought to conform.
At a young age, I was going through changes, looking at myself in the mirror daily; hoping for something to happen. The physical changes reinforcing what society believes; the belief physically male must mean masculine. I would like to have soft silky hands, long slender legs, long smooth beautiful hair, and much more; saying to myself daily. Each day going by hating it. Learning to reinforce the lies society has; giving small clues though out.
It took a few words at a young age; to create a mask my whole life time. I live a life of confusion; all my interaction is feminine; leaving strangers, friends, girlfriends, and family often confused.
The thoughts “That outfit looks cute on her. What do the outfit look like on me? What color nail polish or hairstyle matches it? What shoes? What hosiery? Where can I get it? Oh by the way, the weather is nice”, is unspoken.
Vivianne
Society trains you that being physically male means you have to think, act, and react male. A superficial lie, etched in stone.
Even being your thinking about silk soft stocking gently touching the skin or glistening transparent romantic dress, is treated with equal disdain. If talked about laughed at, treated as a sinful thought. Such prejudice this society lies behind; hiding hate and the thought to conform.
At a young age, I was going through changes, looking at myself in the mirror daily; hoping for something to happen. The physical changes reinforcing what society believes; the belief physically male must mean masculine. I would like to have soft silky hands, long slender legs, long smooth beautiful hair, and much more; saying to myself daily. Each day going by hating it. Learning to reinforce the lies society has; giving small clues though out.
It took a few words at a young age; to create a mask my whole life time. I live a life of confusion; all my interaction is feminine; leaving strangers, friends, girlfriends, and family often confused.
The thoughts “That outfit looks cute on her. What do the outfit look like on me? What color nail polish or hairstyle matches it? What shoes? What hosiery? Where can I get it? Oh by the way, the weather is nice”, is unspoken.
Vivianne
Monday, March 2, 2009
Distraction
Distraction
Is the distraction an act or figment of imagination?
Something believed to be amusement or light contradiction, even through the feelings are as tender as an ice princess, deeply attached. A crystalline princess looking up; the fact is a carefully created rose is always there.
Can all these years be summed up to the simple word, distraction? The very last thing wanted; nor one step taken day by day, no matter how significant. Does friendship base itself on the word, distraction? Do a friend base their thoughts on a person based on what other people might perceive?
A delicate pink rose still exist; bleeding from the sharp thorns crafted in single, deadly words. Stranger words might hurt; but friend words cut. A deadly rippling effect tearing apart a mosaic. I’m exhausted from a long year of extended work hours and sharp words carefully tearing distancing ones heart.
A black porcelain doll still lives; unmasked, showing it day to day. You just have to see it, a pink rose.
Vivianne
Is the distraction an act or figment of imagination?
Something believed to be amusement or light contradiction, even through the feelings are as tender as an ice princess, deeply attached. A crystalline princess looking up; the fact is a carefully created rose is always there.
Can all these years be summed up to the simple word, distraction? The very last thing wanted; nor one step taken day by day, no matter how significant. Does friendship base itself on the word, distraction? Do a friend base their thoughts on a person based on what other people might perceive?
A delicate pink rose still exist; bleeding from the sharp thorns crafted in single, deadly words. Stranger words might hurt; but friend words cut. A deadly rippling effect tearing apart a mosaic. I’m exhausted from a long year of extended work hours and sharp words carefully tearing distancing ones heart.
A black porcelain doll still lives; unmasked, showing it day to day. You just have to see it, a pink rose.
Vivianne
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