This is a poem I wrote…
Looking at my learner’s permit, you’d see that they list the color of my eyes as brown. In fact, they are green. Envy is a funny thing. I don’t mean for it to happen, but it just takes a hold of me. It’s a little plague that boils up and out of me whenever I see something that isn’t me–pictures of stylish girls having a night out on the town and an empty corner where my smiling face could’ve been. My eyes go green.
Curled, crimped and trimmed hair sends flashes of red anger through my eyes and down my spine. I don’t want to be this way. But, I can’t help but mix yellow and blue hues when I travel back and forth to a part of town I wouldn’t otherwise be in, to do work I don’t get paid for and watch brand name big bags hanging from manicured hands swaying to the beat of the high priced high-heels clacking down the granite hallway.
I don’t want to be mean. To take my mind off of things, I come up with every way imaginable to explain why those luxurious gifts aren’t meant for me. And when my thoughts stray away, a calm relief washes over me, adding more yellow and a splash of red to the concoction. And I can see again. And I can breathe again. And I feel like a person worth being.
Then as sure as time waits for no one, a pain leaves my chest and grabs at my neck, beckoning me to release that pent up tension. Sexy stilettos step in front of me, reminding me of my of a life I can’t have, a party I was denied because people found it easier to not invite me, and an ensemble I could never wear–peacock colors I would never be brave to dare step out in with a semi-permanent disfigured ankle. I envy the feet that dance all night long, to music that I wouldn’t be able to sing along to, at places that would never be a part of my memory banks.
Hunter. My eyes grow ravenous, thinking only to tear down what isn’t mine or can’t be mine, while deep down inside I don’t want to be that hungry. I don’t want that yearning because I’ve grown to like the person that I’ve become–two sides to this one being, who has yet to walk out in her shoes, bought for the sheer fun, but have never graced the murky sidewalk. I don’t like being greedy and so sometimes I starve myself. Then the green becomes moss and the hunger grows…
I try to think about other things. I try to make it seem like my eclectic tastes and my random wit and my distorted nature makes up for me being uniquely excluded on the ritualistically included norms of everyone’s everyday living. That my difference doesn’t hinder me, but gives me a way to see things differently. That my weird is a science only I can understand and what some find intriguing- a whole new world that some venture into with open arms, while others look away with blank bland eyes.
Though, if misery loves company, then my eyes must be filled with something full.
I don’t mean to be mean, and I don’t want my eyes to be ever-green. I don’t want to want, but I can’t help that when I see things, my eyes open wide, the colors change and I feel different inside.
My id says that my eyes are brown, but they can be green sometimes…though, I wished they’d just stay brown.