After Toni Morrison’s, The Bluest Eye
the first literature text in which I found myself reflected

I.

i tell you this — they gave me milk,
in the heat it clings to the tongue —
a stale blossoming

outside the mug — shirley temple.
56 curls, blond curls, white dimpled cheeks — the bluest eyes

Beauty — for the taking,
to touch, to taste, to tend

a fire blisters my heart muscles
no amount of snow drinking could cool

ugliness oozes out of my dull night skin
as they dump their waste on me

a violence – with no idea of its depth –
hitches a ride on my hunched back

II.
::
whipped
::

III.

I show you this —a piece of mirror
pierces my hand, drawing blood —
the pain is absorbed

Just I don’t know why you have to look every minute. They aren’t going anywhere.

a pair of new blue eyes — i’ve got
a new gaze — a new presence
they can’t even look at me

my eyes are bluer than theirs — see
it won’t be long now until sweet love
pours over everyone like little pieces of sun