by Andy Scheim

This story was inspired by the word "glasses" pulled from an envelope for a writing exercise during the Storytelling Unit

you see eyes through these glasses but i never know if you really see them
you look, but eyes are the window to the soul, and you ain't seeing my soul
my glasses may be dirty, but through dirty windows you still see light, dark, kids playing, snow falling
even when there are no curtains, you don't see pain, love and longing

think you once saw
pictures of smiles on beaches and in playgrounds with pink sundresses tell me
maybe i remember chicken soup and warm hugs
the smell of perfume and lotion

time passes
and leaves me to wonder when your vision failed

say my glasses are dirty
or covered with black curtains
hiding what's real
just say it already
you know you want to
blame me

all i see now is what i long to forget
gone are sundresses and pools
supposed happiness on glossy paper

head full of polaroids
the kind you see on crime shows
dirty bleeding frames
of slamming doors and crying

you have talent
it's hard not to see the scenes played out in my eyes
the soap opera melodrama
that is our life
playing in the theatre that you turn away from when we fight

i'd love to grab you
force you to look

i want to put on a pink dress and go swimming with you

my glasses aren't that dirty
try looking through them

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