my glasses

i’ve stopped wearing glasses

so that i could see better,

and in these blurred lines

the truth has gotten hazier.

lies drift freely in the open air.

i’m not so much focused on perfect shapes,

but rather sacred body language; words spoken on blurry lips.

i’m a control freak i’ve come to learn.

my vision held tight and close

so i could see the changes of the seasons

on a person’s skin, keep track of danger before it could hit;

now i’m not sure where i’ve placed my glasses,

but i feel my stomach turning waves to ashes.

a churning of depression and sadness

in my chest like a panic,

and a scrambling silence in the attic.

deafened joy i find when my heart falls silent.

but i don’t wish to wear my glasses.

they bruise my noise, and hide my lashes.

and i’m finding smaller joys in semi-blindness.

no pressure to recognize faces as they’re passing.

easier to ignore the eyes that follow

when i can’t see the whites ‘round their irises.

what an exhale.

that game was starting to feel stale.

i think i’ll keep my glasses off.

on the shelf. collecting dust.

it’s best i don’t wear them anymore.

strained eyes can learn to bloom.

the daze will lift when i realize

and view the world through virgin eyes.

clearer lines are in my sight,

my sight divine .