“Eyes are the window to the soul” they say.
Really? Can you see my soul?
Can you all see it?
Because the first thing you ever say, anyone ever says,
“Your eyes are so blue.”
Eyes are the window to the soul?
So by that logic you should know me—,
all of you.
I know I have blue eyes, mirrors exist.
A compliment? An observation?
A statement?
“Thank you.” Boring.
“I know.” Rude.
“You too!” A lie.
I know I have blue eyes.
“You have legs.” “I know.”
Not rude.
I look in the mirror every day.
Big reflective pools of water spilling out of me.
Our bodies are 60% water.
And biology has shown its face just shows on my outside.
Is that why my irises are blue?
Are they dyed from the inside?
“Eyes are the window to the soul.”
Mine aren’t.
My soul fell from my eyes years ago.
I heard a big thump in the middle of the night.
And my feet started tingling.
My soul replacing the rich blue pumping blood.
“Eyes are the window to the soul.”
Really?
Do my eyes don toe rings and ocean blue nail polish?
Do they jolt back if they re touched right in the center?|
Are they covered in sticky tar from where the blue monster fills up
my eyes?
My shoes have souls in them.
But to see them, you’ll first find
unlaced sneakers or seven-year old leather flip-flops
Both with worn down soles.
My soul is wearing through soles.
An invisible rock in the ocean sliced open my foot one day.
The rich blueblood spilled red.
And a part of my soul must have seeped out.
I wonder if it tumbles around in the surf,
And that’s why my eyes are so blue.
My feet that take me to the ocean,
My feet that carry my soul,
My feet that colored in my eyes.
