And what is it to be seen?
To be validated?
To exist?
To project my image behind your retina.
Travel along your optic nerve,
To the visual cortex where I am
Disseminated and analysed into micro messages.
For what I choose to be that day,
Ferried along your nervous system.
Into your heart.
Crystalised.
What is it for you to receive me?
Receive the costume.
The painted lips.
In milliseconds your brain creates
It's own interpretation.
Adjectives.
Vowels.
Sounds.
Emotions.
Judgements.
Am I really seen?
What is it to be seen
In all the drapery,
Mental Mathematics?
This colour, that contour?
Will the manipulate me?
Into the sounds and adjectives
I would prefer to be?
My pageantry,
Bravery, trendy, heartful, savoury.
I am seen and not seen.
I am plucking the words,
Holding my breath for your validation
you see.
I am asked to show up in my authenticity.
Well this IS me!
Juxtaposed between
The messages I've received.
How much is too much?
None of it really is.
The gold coloured bangles
in boxes with lids.
The pastelle colour.
The blue, the pink?
My eyes received messages
On how to be.
That gift of
Tweaking, twisting
Your validating being.
Grasping at words in your
Language-centre brain.
I WANT those things.
And I was told this clothing would help!
I was warned not to be hairy.
To avoid words that hurt.
My image shape-shifts,
Keep it up, it's interesting!
But,
Underneath it all...
I just want to be seen.
