Changing Eyes

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My Father’s eyes are gray. They are the evening sky on a gloomy day. His eyes are stern and angular. The eyes you see why you did something bad and your parent’s find out. The angry, sad eyes.

My Brother’s eyes are green. They are bright and hopeful. His eyes droop. The beautiful, bright color is masked by its shape; droopy, unhappy, and hopeful. When I talk to my brother, his eyes are ecstatic, dancing. They seem as if he is looking into his once innocent self. But, when he doesn’t know I am looking, his eyes are exhausted and sorrowful. As if he’s been through rejection and disappointment, time after time.

My Step-Mother’s eyes are blue. The color blue that should be bright, like a spring sky on a hot day. But they are fearful. Her eyes are a young child in front of many judging adults. Her eyes should be bright and comforting, but they give off the most opposite vibe.

My Baby Brother’s eyes are blue. They are the brightest blue imaginable. Hopeful, happy, innocent eyes. As if anything is possible. A dream that came true. My middle brother’s eyes are colorless. An unexplainable color. Very dull. His eyes push people away by the miserable vibe they radiate. His eyes are a half blown dandelion. A hopeful child, making a wish, blowing on the dandelion, but forgetting to blow the rest as negative thoughts taking up his mind. My brother’s eyes are absent.

My Mother’s eyes are a swirl of greens, blue, gold. Her eyes change vastly and quickly. Unexpectedly. Amongst the commotion of change, her eyes are welcoming, comfortable. They are like a warm blanket and a hot-coco on a rainy day. Like a walk on the beach. Her eyes are safe. Her eyes whisper positive messages. Her eyes are the flashlight when the power is out. Her eyes are my comfort. Her eyes are my joy. Her eyes are my home. Her eye are my hope for change,

 

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