I used to draw eyes

I used to draw eyes.

 

Things beautiful and bright,

Made of shadow and light,

Some obscured, full of tears,

Rounded by surprise or by fears.

 

Maybe I needed someone to cry for me,

Or maybe I needed other eyes to see,

To give me a different perspective,

Or to see me, something reflective.

 

I used to draw eyes.

 

And then, one day, I just stopped.

No more of those eyes popped.

Maybe I finally saw what they’ve shown,

Or maybe, just maybe, I learnt to use my own.

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