Her Eyes Are Gold
By Sarah Cameron
I wonder what it’s like,
To see the stars as our sisters and wonder,
If maybe we are the strangers,
And no one was nice enough to tell us.
That maybe in our attempts to stop the loneliness we have all inherited,
It only leads us to perpetuate the struggle.
To dream of times where we won’t be gone from ourselves,
Or missing from not just our minds.
I wonder if I were to run,
How far would I get before anyone would miss me,
Or notice I’m gone?
If I kissed her would they riot and let me rot where I stand?
If I ever believed I had caught happiness in a butterfly net,
Would they cut it open,
And let it bleed out between my fingers?
I wonder what it’s like to have a friend,
I have so few sometimes I can’t tell if they are walking in or out the door,
And I don’t bother to get too attached in case they notice me.
The real me under all these layers of lies and tales to make myself sound interesting.
I don’t wear makeup, maybe I should,
Maybe that would hide whatever it is that people see in me that keeps them away.
The truth maybe.
It’s not like I like it either.
If I was colourblind,
Would I ever get the chance to love the cosmos for their emptiness and wholeness all at once?
Would I get the chance to see her,
Dreaming about me,
Thinking about what I am doing and who I am seeing,
And when I’ll come back from the recesses of my mind?
Would I get the chance to pull myself together?
To clip off any unwanted fragments and let the best parts shine through the deadheading.
They say it makes them grow better,
They can focus all their attention on making prettier blooms,
Not suffering in hopes of making the withered ones come back to life.
Am I just an object to be looked at, but not to be seen,
To be appreciated for what others want in themselves,
But never really loved for who I am,
Or what I have gotten myself into.
I wonder if the world will ever stop spinning so fast,
That I might actually get the chance to squish my toes through fresh grass,
The dew caught on my painted toenails and just rest for a moment.
I wouldn’t mind if I was on the bottom of the world or the top,
As long as I was just there.
They want me to be something,
A big deal,
To not waste my potential on things that might make me happier.
I just want to find her,
And let her tell me that everything will be okay,
That my nightmares are just fairy tales that the thunder made,
And the scars on my body are artfully drawn constellations,
And that freckle underneath my eye is just as beautiful as the one on my hand,
back,
leg,
And it doesn’t matter if my hair is blue,
Or neon yellow,
Or even if I’m bald,
Because she will stay with me,
She will love me,
And my nonsensical intricacies and idiosyncrasies,
(And I won’t feel so alone.)
But for now, I’ll wonder what it’s like,
To see the stars as our sisters and wonder, If maybe we are the strangers,
And no one was nice enough to tell us.