The Girl With Pretty Eyes
The poem is about a girl often admired for her pretty eyes. To the world, they are the first thing anyone notices—but the one she inherited them from remains silent. His silence is intriguing— almost bewildering. Perhaps the quiet is not as simple as she may have thought of, but rather layered.
I’ve always been called
the girl with pretty eyes—
a single feature stealing the light,
eclipsing the riot of colors within me.
As though the universe chose one window
to hold all its secrets.
But he—
he never says a word.
Not once
has he looked at me
the way the world does
and told me,
‘Your eyes make me want to look at them more.’
He never calls them pretty,
never crowns them with metaphors
the way others do.
And maybe,
just maybe—
it’s because they’re his
And he knows that they’re his.
I wear his vision,
his stare
his color,
his softness,
his sharpness
And he’s lived inside these eyes for years,
watched the world through them
long before I ever blinked or cried
Compliments don’t mean much
when you’re used to seeing
your own reflection
in someone else's gaze.
Maybe that’s why he stays silent—
not because they’re obnoxious,
but because what the world calls beautiful
is, to him,
simply familiar.
-yuri
