Mom’s eyes light up in the mirror as I babble out “Mama” from the backseat

The woman tells Mom what a beautiful little girl I am as she passes by

Dad tears up as I pedal down the pavement without his hands there

I don’t notice

Love is an eyepatch that covers one eye

I can still turn and look all around me

I’m safe, I think

I can still see, I think

You can only look around so much when you are little 

You aren’t fortunate enough to experience the little things

But an eyepatch distorts your vision

Buildings seem far away but are actually two feet from you

Roads seem perfectly-shaped but are actually rigid and rough

Windows seem as clear as the lake in the early hours of the morning but are actually clouded and foggy

They’re not what they seem

The eyepatch is not what it seems

All of your other senses kick in

Your ears can hear the roaring engine

Your nose can smell the nauseating gasoline

You finally notice the sports car driving by

Mom yells at her cell phone as I hear what sounds like Grandad’s voice come through the same cell phone

I notice the anger in her eyes

The tall man wearing reflective clothing races towards the woman lying outside of her car as I race by

I notice the blood on her leg

Dad’s voice ricochet off the windows, and I hear Mom’s voice whisper daggers back at him

I notice the disgust in her voice

Love is an eyepatch that covers one eye, you realize

I can still turn around and look around me

But

I’m not safe, I don’t think

I can’t see, I don’t think

Mom’s eyes light up in the mirror as I babble out “Mama” from the backseat

She was driving me away from Dad

The woman tells Mom what a beautiful little girl I am as she passes by

That woman was her best friend who lost her baby just months before

Dad tears up as I pedal down the pavement without his hands there

He cherished that moment because his dad never taught him how to ride a bike

I can only see so much when I am little

I am fortunate enough to not experience the little things