You Stop Your Staring

Can I ask why are you staring?

Could it be perhaps my size?

Or is it cause I’ve got these planets swirling in my eyes?

 

My ancient earthy windows should come as no surprise this hazel hue this nature’s call has never been disguised. 

 

My ancestors have worn them like the medals at their sides. My brother seems to share them like our mother’s apple pies

 

So again why are you staring if you’re sure it’s not my eyes, could it maybe be my golden hair or the curving of my thighs?

 

This hair of waving wheat may seem mundane to you, but if you climbed my family tree, then you would eat your shoe. 

 

These wisps of ashen sunlight are not heirlooms from my dad nor are they treasures from the chest my mother used to have.

 

They seem to come from nowhere like the blowing of the breeze, but even on a family tree there are bound to be odd leaves. 

 

Perhaps these thighs like mountains could have distracted you? I assure you though, their juicy size is sadly nothing new.

 

So if you say it’s not my golden locks or the eyes above cheeks and you say it’s not my mountain thighs, then whatever could it be?

 

Could it be my elvish grin with my less than perfect teeth? Or maybe it’s my timid feet or the bending at my knees?

 

This smile should not offend you it’s been bought with memories. Born from days and nights of laughter and songs it used to sing.

 

Sorry my smile is thwarted, but the truth my friend you see, is that if you think or look like me you aren’t supposed to speak.

 

My teeth are just a casket for the child I used to be. Pinned down by metal wires and shaped for the world to see.

 

For like so many others I was forced to pay the fee to make my body fit the mold that I myself can’t see.

 

My timid feet have reason for the tapping of their song. Paying tribute to those who once were here, but since have all, but gone.

 

They have no fear of failing like I have no fear of death. It’s just another story that begins with my last breath.

 

So perhaps my knees are bending under the weight of all these things, but someday soon they’ll stand up strong  from the hope that heaven brings.

 

So I ask again my brother? Is there something that you see? Or could it be you feel my thunder and are longing to be free?

This poem is about: 
Me

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