Nobody writes poems about my brown eyes, rich like the finest chocolate but tender like a mother’s love
Nobody looks at me and gets lost in the deepness of my gaze, wondering what these big, sad eyes dream about when they are shut
Nobody stares through the windows of my soul long enough to notice the stars scattered within, hopeful, longing, waiting
Waiting for somebody to write me my poem
My poem comparing my dirt colored eyes to the pinecone freshly fallen from the tree, soon to sprout into something greater
Or talk about the amber hues hidden beneath the autumn leaves
Or even describe the glimmer so subtle, but as wonderful as a sliver of the silver moon on a clear night
Why do I wait for this poet of mine to come
Why do I wait for the blue eyes, as clear as the skies
As deep as the sea, to be replaced with me
I no longer wait for this poem
For i found the best artist to paint this masterpiece
Was a brown eyed girl like me