by Gregory Davidson

I can only see the world
From eyes so surely mine,
So locked inside
One head,
One space,
That the way the world appears to me,
Is made so by my eyes.

And yet myself,
I only see
From eyes that aren’t quite right
Not the eyes of others
And certainly not mine,
But the eyes in the mirror
Looking back in self-reflection,
Eyes that aren’t quite real
And only see imperfection.

These eyes that aren’t quite mine
Are eyes that scowl
And eyes that stare
And eyes that turn what my eyes saw
Into nightmares they lay bare.

So to truly understand this world,
Of which I am a part,
I must see eyes from outside eyes,
But inside eyes to start.
Learn to lose what
Glares back at me from the mirror
To see myself
from eyes that truly see.

I need to ask which eyes are real
And which are symptoms
Of an anxious mind.
The eyes won’t leave,
But if I know,
Which ones to trust,

I can see things from
Perspectives
That do exist
To have a say.