A Foreigner in my Own World

    Some days, I feel like a foreigner in my own state of self.  I find myself questioning who I am, who I hope to be, and whether the two resulting flows of thoughts in answering these questions even remotely coincide.  The purely superficial view of who I am from the perception of an outsider is as follows:  Her name is Sunshine Rose; a pretty name for a pretty girl.  She is a young lady, petite with beautiful features.  Sweet nature and kind heart.  Very friendly. . . and on and on and on.  In contrast, here is my thoughtful and deeply considered view of my inner-self.  My name is Sunshine Rose; a name once disguised with misleading ugliness to distract myself from pressing questions that some wished to avoid answering.  I am not yet past the bloom of youth, and while my physical features have ceased to produce any dramatic changes, my intuitive self is still in its state of blossoming.  I have an easy disposition, but a troubled mind depending on the day, and whether you know this or not is dependent on the depth of our connection.  There is so much more to know, but so little time.  Too little time in the world.  Of course, I am still more than happy to offer you a seat.  Please, sit and let us discuss.  And on and on and on. . .