Could anyone let my eyes be the poem, as I write about theirs forever getting the drowsy eyes compliment? It's not a compliment, my sleepy eyes, the sunspots on my cheeks, and the little dimples near my eyes that only appear when I smile. Can the poet write about his own imperfections? I once told my beloved one that the scars on his visage are not repulsive. Yet, every time I pass by their path in mine, I slow down, ease off just to feel yours on mine even if my face had no scar in it at all. Then why don't I see mine as anything else but faults? Still, I am the only one that sees those faults ,how my nose gets some pink touches when I laugh , the way my hair falls on my shoulders and how I tilt my head a bit when I talk .Then, can I be the poet of my own blemishes, to say that they are not? They are not