Your eyes are soft like a lady or a lion,
Sitting patiently and watching, laying on top of me and looking though my eyes.
Searching, following a glimmer of light from my core that you see.
I watch you waiting. I see you seeing, or trying to see. Looking. Watching. Waiting.
Your eyes are clear as crystal. There is nothing you need me to be, no form you are trying to stuff me into. No funny costumes of roles you need me to play.
At first I am skeptical of your seeing. Could you really be looking for a me that you can't see? Could someone really be trying to see the full me? The full, messy, powerful, unadulterated me? And can I let her be seen? I never truly have before. She appears in moments but often she is like a ghost. Omnipresent and rarely seen. I tell her people cannot see her because they cannot see what they do not know to look for.
So many see my eyes, the curl of my lips, the sway of my hips, the warmth of my arms, the strength of my charms, my laughs vibration, my hearts hesitation. And those who saw, that light, that spark, who felt that sun, thought they could keep it for themselves. Thought they needed to protect her holding on so tight they snuffed her out. Or thought she could cure their ills. Thought this is the elixir that will heal me, and drank her till she was nearly dry. So now she does not appear much these days. She likes to stay shadowed behind my lids, soft pulsing from my belly, present but passive.
And your gaze is trusting and simple: pure looking. Can you see me? Can you really see me? One step at a time from the shadow till I feel myself bathed in the light of your vision and instantly your eyes reply with a smile and you laugh. You See! You See. You exhale and simply say. Wow.