My mother has a picture in her bedroom
Me at three years-old
Wild hair and a look in my eyes
That I just recognized in the mirror
We think we change so much
We're wrong

Sure, we cut our hair differently
We learn a little more
Forget some things we used to know
Get taller
But we don't really change

Show me two sets of eyes:
Mine today and mine at three years-old
Show me two looks
The only way I will ever tell them apart
Is by a bright pink spot in one of them
A burst blood vessel
That's the only thing that's different
A little bright pink spot of chipping paint

I always think the same thing
When I catch myself in the mirror
"Portrait of a girl trying"
The only time I haven't thought that
Was when I was too young to have the words for it
"Portrait of a girl trying"
Briefly, when I was depressed
I added one line to it
"Black marbles"
I'm still trying to understand that one
Maybe it's because I have dark eyes