I'm so young I'm just like a baby. Just past a year old screaming and crying hurt so bad cus I don’t like to lay that way ouch. A baby brain inside a grown woman. I have her impulses. Abandon! Investigate! Revel! Nothing can hurt me. I will skate along on the charm of my big bug eyes. If I were to go missing, they would go on the flier: The girl with eyes that bulge! Thank God for these eyes of mine, because surely they’d be missed. I can also see from miles away. Only in front, though. That’s the issue. You hear all these things about hindsight, but I never look back. That 20/20 is different from mine. I see very clearly, but seeing is different than knowing. I don’t actually believe hindsight is 20/20. I very rarely make sense of things. The past is so dreary. Visual delights gone by are nulled by bitterness. I am so focused on focusing on the road ahead. Rumor has it I can pave with thoughts alone.
Rumor has it there’s a solar eclipse. I fear I won’t be able to help looking it straight in the eyes, and it will be the last thing I see. Would that be so bad? How lovely it would be to possess such big eyes that can’t see a thing. Facial ornaments. We have other organs that don’t function, but they aren’t beautiful or at eye-level. I would need someone to dress them up for me. Hang ornaments from lashes. Rub smelly creams underneath. Smudge pastels on lids. I want them so beautiful no one could ever imagine them being of use. Trouble is I would never get to see.