Their eyes.
What do they see?
Is there something wrong with me?
Can they see the black in my heart?
Do they see the scars that tear me apart?
Do they know that I am broken?
Can they guess at my words unspoken?
Do they see my sorrow, when I do not cry?
Do they see that I live, but a lie?
Do they know that I am dead inside?
Can they see me in my unbreaking tide?
Can they see me back against the wall?
Do they see my body, all black and blue as I fall?
Oh, how I wish I knew what they see.
When they are staring across the room at me.
The bad I am, is what they see.
But why can't they see the good
I can be?