They say the eyes
Are the window to the soul.
But what if I,
To the best of my abilities,
Am an avid avoider
Of eyes?
My random gaze-darting
Doesn't mean I don't care
About what you say,
Yet I can't bring myself
To do the polite thing
And meet your stare.
If you were to ask me
The colours of the eyes
Belonging to my family members,
Much to their surprise,
I couldn't tell you.
If you were to ask me
My surroundings
Of when I speak to someone,
According to my findings,
I could tell you.
So if I never look
Into the all-seeing windows
That are eyes,
Does that make me soulless?
Or have I simply
Hidden mine away?
I tell myself
That I refuse
To make eye-contact
Because I cannot handle it
And I just don't like to.
What if
The odd avoidance of staring
Isn't because
Of some random uncomfortableness,
But because I'm afraid
Of what he
Who gets a glimpse at my soul
Might see?
***
Nah I'm just a little bitch who cringes at any interaction whatsoever.
And I'm ginger so I don't even have a soul to begin with.
Plus I'm half asleep and I just finished watching Jessica Jones in under 24 hours so now I'm on Luke Cage. Can't wait to start Defenders.
8/24/2017
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Over Prose
PoetryI've never been artistic. I've never really liked poetry. So basically, I'm gonna add shit when I'm sleep-deprived and not thinking straight. NOTE: One shitty poem USED TO BE posted every day! Highest ranking: #67 in Poetry (8/17/2017) *** Cover pho...
