I don’t hate my brown eyes anymore.
Hate takes too much feeling.
I just look at them
and feel nothing.
They sit in my face
like they’ve given up trying to matter,
like they already know
no one is really looking.
Brown doesn’t ache.
It doesn’t beg.
It just exists,
the way I do most days;
present, unnoticed, replaceable.
I watch myself in the mirror
and there’s no sadness left to flinch,
no anger sharp enough to burn.
Just a dull understanding
that this is what I am.
These eyes have seen people leave
without asking why I stayed.
They’ve learned not to react,
not to hope,
not to expect recognition.
Even when I cry,
it feels distant,
like it’s happening to someone else.
The tears fall,
the eyes stay brown,
and nothing inside me changes.
I think my eyes learned emptiness
before the rest of me did.
They stopped asking to be loved
a long time ago,
and I followed.
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 10:24 PM UTC
You shattered your self, once a mirror now a million shards spreaded across the world.
I would spend life times collecting the pieces to put you back together, even if it means losing myself.
#poetry. By Christian Campos
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 2:14 AM UTC