You said my eyes were beautiful,
and I knew you were a liar.
Anyone who has really spent time
studying my body would never open
with, “Oh wow, those eyes.”
You could try starting with
the expanse of flesh
that is my back.
Scar-free, long and wide,
you could’ve rested your head
on the curve of my spine,
if you never would have
complimented my eyes.
Or maybe the mole behind my right ear.
Tiny, brown, non-cancerous.
No one ever notices, or at least
never remembers, the smallest
creases of the tiniest part of my body.
I’d rather you compliment
the frequency of and honesty in
my smile, than
my actual smile itself.
Next to my eyes, my smile
may be the most average
aspect about me,
but at least I have straight teeth.
You could even venture so close
as to compliment my eyelids,
with their thread-like veins
patterning over the thinnest skin
on my body, remnants of the headaches,
squinting, crying and tension
resulting from too many people
trying to fit into my too small life.
But the eyes– “Oh wow, those eyes.”
Almond-shaped and worried.
Wrinkled and always darting.
Mascara gathers on the outside corners
and the sleep I don’t get
finds its way to the center.
Mud colored, tree bark textured,
the two single least beautiful
coordinates on my human.
I’m a brown eyed girl in the simplest of forms,
“Sarah, plain and tall,” tired eyes and all.