Tell me I’m beautiful until I can tell myself, while my green eyes hold scars that match the pink ones in my heart
Sticky adhesions in complimentary colors, from traumas I can no longer remember, or choose to forget
Cob webby things draw the darkness near; a place of endless fascination for the ophthalmologists in the crowd
But I like the attention, so I let the lesions be - as if I had a choice. Tell me I’m beautiful until I can tell myself
The threat of darkness, of not seeing, makes me feel cold, afraid of what I might miss: the curve of his eyes when he smiles, the intimacy of distant stars
twinkling with life, undulations of the sea that beckon me to you, the glory of pink orange yellow sunsets that fill my eyes to overflow with their brilliance
But we’re all dying a little with each breath; night waits for us all. One day I will look in the mirror and tell of the beauty of the stranger in the mirror,
knowing her scars are the birthplace of understanding. If I do slip into darkness, do not lose heart. Know that I will never forget the blue of your sky,
freckles sprinkled like salt across your cheeks, know that the light is made more beautiful because of the dark