I have my mothers eyes.
They’re the same shade of brown, dark and almost black unless you take a closer look.
They droop in a way that people call them sad eyes.
Her sadness, I got that too.
We cry in solitude and lift our chins the same way
We lose sleep and it shows under our eyes,
she prays to God and I pray to the stars.
Our intensity is flaring, intimidating and she taught how to walk alone.
She knew the world did not take kindly to women like us, so she taught me how to stand.