"Eyes Deceive You"

Eyes deceive you

This beauty of mine- will not be seen

By a blind man, no less, no more.

The blind man, will see

Not from his eyes but his hands.

His fingers will trace my face,

Not admiring, but frowning.

A bizarre beauty,

An ugly grace-

He will not see the porcelain skin- the flawless white,

He will feel the bumps, the texture, the terrible bites,

He will not see the full eyebrows, full lips of pink,

He will instead feel the pores, the hair, eyebags, my cracked lips.

He will not admire my ‘sweet smile’,

But he will count the pimples all the time.

He will see how my eyelashes aren’t uniform,

And then while you call me beautiful, he will call me ugly.

The blind man will then feel my hair,

But he will not see the shining black, only the split ends to spare.

His hands will move down my neck, my almost real collarbones, my broad shoulders, my back:

What looks perfect to you, to him is merely a sack.

Not a curvaceous body, but lumps of fat, loose skin, hanging from me like a rack.

He will trace my arms, but let go as soon as he feels the bumps of my hundred scars

That lie from my wrists to my arms- everywhere, he’ll frown and feel and frown-

He will then reach my breasts,

Feeling the weight-

But, he might laugh, because there won’t be much.

He won’t see the perky shape- the youthful touch.

He will feel the asymmetry (the lopsided), and simply like always, judge.

He might delve deeper and pick out my heart,

But that will give him another reason to lour.

The beat of my heart will throb in his veins,

My guilt, my pain, my embarrassment (of my imperfect body- imperfect skin)

Singing thump.thump.thump.i’msorry.thump.thump.

My heart will be an ugly shape too, full of sin and desire-

evil thoughts, selfish needs, lust and joy and kindness.

He might take a bite, to get a taste of me,

What bite will it be?

The taste will be a buffet of bitter-sweet, sour, salty like my tears.

My blood in his mouth will rot

Rot with the infestation of you,

The poor man might just die, because all he will hear is you.

If he stays alive still, his palms will trace further-

He will not see the voluptuous thighs and maiden frame.

He will feel the hundred cellulites, ingrown hair, and spots to bare.

He will feel the pouch of my stomach and my love handles (much unlovable).

In the eye of his mind, my body will be ugly too; ugly as my heart, ugly as my face.

He will again feel the fat, and when he tries to delve his fingers in between-

He will find that I have no thigh gap

Thus leading to his permanent scowl (that only appears when he touches me).

He will touch my calves and toes, to feel the hardened skin and thickness.

Nothing very feminine or demure, more like a warrior’s legs.

But,

But.

But-

He might feel the softness of my face, the way my cheeks and lips feel

He might feel the tilt of my voice and laugh

He might feel the way I shudder and my eyelashes close

He might feel the gentle curves of my waist and legs

He might feel how soft my palms are on his face

He might feel the stories in my scars

He might just feel the kindness, innocence and love of a rotting woman,

He might just feel me.

He won’t tell me that I am perfect (I don’t need him to, anyways).

But, he will tell me how he loves all of it.

He will tell me how melting my voice is- how soft I am.

And perhaps, then, I will breathe.

So, as you let your eyes deceive yourself-

As you judge me for what my body and face are and not what I am,

As you let your eyes decide my being and heart for you-

That blind man might just start loving me,

He might just start teaching me

A love so deep and bare

That only he and I can feel-

(perhaps you too, if you try)

Because sometimes, to not let your eyes deceive,

You just have to close them for a while and become blind, for you- for me.