When I was eight, I picked out a pair of pink and purple glasses and was told that I could never take them off
It’ll take some getting used to, but this is how you’ll see from now on.
And those words settled on me with all the grace of the purple backpack that I lugged to and from school
How could something so frail replace one of my senses?
But I was taught to believe that adults always knew better, so there was no room for questioning
When I was 16, I picked out a pair of slim cat-eye glasses and donned them like armor and crutch
They helped to create a beautiful mask of indifference that caught everything but was surprised by nothing
When the optometrist suggested contacts, I killed the idea with a frigid no
Knowing that the eyes are the windows to the soul and that I wasn’t ready to be so vulnerable
When I was 17, I met someone who taught me that there is more to a person than meets the eye, and it was such a heavy lesson to learn
To only begin to understand that it’s ok to shed your armor
To be soft and open in a world that preys on those moments
To believe you’re someone worth getting to know
When I was 21, I picked out a pair of wide black-rimmed glasses that showed my eyes as much as the pink and purple pair once did
I’m not in such a hurry to put them on anymore, because, sometimes, the only way to see the mosaic patterns on my skin, or the way the rising sun douses my room in a cloudy aura of orange and yellow is by letting them sit on the nightstand a little while longer


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