Eyes like flowers.
My eyes are green. Except for the edges that are flecked with amber streaks. They are slow and gentle and they see more than you expect them to. They love the earth. They love the world. They love the grass that you stand on and the flowers that you smell.
My eyes are green. And they help the plants grow. They urge the leaves to unfurl and to spring up. They plead with early shoots not to give up as a frost touches the delicate petals.
My eyes are green. My pupils are like black mirrors or pits into which I swallow anger and hate.
My eyes are green.