I.
In the old days, she would drop something as a hint. Now
She merely glances.
An eye, and it quickly shifts to elsewhere.
(She always observes. With no assumption.)
Someday, somebody will pick up where she drops, and fall down to her feet.
Until then, nobody is paying attention.
They see her. (Of course they do)
She is unique yet common in everyone's eyes.
Eyes, and they quickly shift to other places.
Sometimes she senses their unspoken and indiscernible gazes. They turn into silent attacks. They are everywhere to corner her.
She runs/She dodges/She finds no shelter/She covers her head/She can't catch her breath---
And she blacks out.
In her dark universe, colors speak for themselves. They dazzle her.
Accents fascinate her. Styles puzzle her. Smells nauseate her.
She wonders, is variety really the spice for life?
II.
I am eager, proactive.
I go out to build relationships.
I try to be colorblind and minimum judgmental.
I want to believe sincerity IS the foundation for grandeur establishment.
Difficult. Two eyes rarely see the same thing.
People project me in their own ways. They see me and soon conclude who I am and what I should be.
I just let their imaginations develop, fantasies fly.
I am that light reflected, deflected with a rainbow of colors through their prism lens—
Made in U.S.A, or China, or India, or Turkey, or elsewhere.
The lens are roughly carved,
and I simply black out.
III.
From those stares an intangible tickle ripples her still water.
She feels that sudden wetness.
She is surprised, frightened, and at times disgusted.
She keeps to herself. She secretly analyzes every wisp of sense thread, imposes a scientific research, forces a lab purge.
(Her longing proves her confusion and lost identity)
In her white universe, rules are written as demonstration.
But nobody is paying attention. The connection is vanishing.
She-is-exhausted.
(Lonely? a little bit)
She asks herself: Why do these matter so much?
The Masses Think, Behave, Conform, Succumb to Uniform Value.
She does NOT.
IV.
Some day, somebody will pick up where I drop, and fall down to my feet.
Until then, I have no clue. All I know is--
The eyes will see.
The colors will mix.
We will be happy.
I can hold our hands/I can listen to our whispers/I can touch the softness of our flowers/I can feel our warmth under our sun/I can squint and smile
And I
In the old days, she would drop something as a hint. Now
She merely glances.
An eye, and it quickly shifts to elsewhere.
(She always observes. With no assumption.)
Someday, somebody will pick up where she drops, and fall down to her feet.
Until then, nobody is paying attention.
They see her. (Of course they do)
She is unique yet common in everyone's eyes.
Eyes, and they quickly shift to other places.
Sometimes she senses their unspoken and indiscernible gazes. They turn into silent attacks. They are everywhere to corner her.
She runs/She dodges/She finds no shelter/She covers her head/She can't catch her breath---
And she blacks out.
In her dark universe, colors speak for themselves. They dazzle her.
Accents fascinate her. Styles puzzle her. Smells nauseate her.
She wonders, is variety really the spice for life?
II.
I am eager, proactive.
I go out to build relationships.
I try to be colorblind and minimum judgmental.
I want to believe sincerity IS the foundation for grandeur establishment.
Difficult. Two eyes rarely see the same thing.
People project me in their own ways. They see me and soon conclude who I am and what I should be.
I just let their imaginations develop, fantasies fly.
I am that light reflected, deflected with a rainbow of colors through their prism lens—
Made in U.S.A, or China, or India, or Turkey, or elsewhere.
The lens are roughly carved,
and I simply black out.
III.
From those stares an intangible tickle ripples her still water.
She feels that sudden wetness.
She is surprised, frightened, and at times disgusted.
She keeps to herself. She secretly analyzes every wisp of sense thread, imposes a scientific research, forces a lab purge.
(Her longing proves her confusion and lost identity)
In her white universe, rules are written as demonstration.
But nobody is paying attention. The connection is vanishing.
She-is-exhausted.
(Lonely? a little bit)
She asks herself: Why do these matter so much?
The Masses Think, Behave, Conform, Succumb to Uniform Value.
She does NOT.
IV.
Some day, somebody will pick up where I drop, and fall down to my feet.
Until then, I have no clue. All I know is--
The eyes will see.
The colors will mix.
We will be happy.
I can hold our hands/I can listen to our whispers/I can touch the softness of our flowers/I can feel our warmth under our sun/I can squint and smile
And I
