There are no songs

My eyes aren’t pretty.

They’re dark, and bland, and empty.

I see it in people’s eyes when I compliment theirs,

As they search for a chance to say it back.

They can never find the words.

My eyes aren’t pretty.

My sister laughs when she sees how wide I stare into the camera,

Every photo the same.

What she doesn’t see is how ugly I look when my lids are at rest.

My eyes aren’t pretty

They’re nothing to look at,

Nothing to draw.

Not even the shape is something to be wowed at.

There are no songs,

About the color of my eyes.

Dark brown.

My eyes aren’t pretty.

“What is your favorite part of your face?”

My lips are nice,

On their own.

Not with my face.

My eyes aren’t pretty.

My eyes look pretty on another face,

Another shape,

Another shade of brown.

Anything to make me pretty.

Because my eyes aren’t pretty,

No one will stare and think I’m beautiful.

My eyes aren’t pretty.

Not on my face.

Not at all.