I have
Very rarely
Heard anything
Kind, sweet, or beautiful.

No.
Just dirt.

I have ***** eyes.
They are the colour of earth.
Hot chocolate, or a doe-if you're stretching.

My eyes are dirt.
Poets struggle with them.
They focus on a smile
Or skin
Or soft fingers.

They try to hide the impurity
Of brown eyes
Despite the fact that my eyes
Are the most common colour of all.

I suppose that isn't unique enough.
Dirt, after all, isn't special
Not even for it's life giving
Breaking
Qualities.

I have ***** eyes.
They're simply not special enough
To be cherished.