Selectively Juggling

Can’t see me, as in visually impaired? Have they ever been sighted and have an old point of reference. An existing visual inner eye that I could speak to? Or have they never been sighted? If it’s the later and not former I’d say “ I’ve got long wavy hair the colour of golden sunshine on finely spun silken spider’s web.

My eyes are like the green and blue of planet earth, with discernible flecks of gold. Just as the universe holds all the earth’s secrets, my eyes reveal the depths of my soul. At times I shield them as a way of self-preservation, other times I let them sparkle in child-like wonder and awe, other times they pool with the salty tears of emotion. It is then they take on the persona of the ocean. They cannot lie, they simply express what is often unspoken.

My fair skin springs golden at the touch of the summer sun, but retreats into pasty whiteness under winter’s cool touch. I walk with my shoulders back and head held straight, my big feet firmly hug the ground. I’ve worked hard to reclaim my space, my body and mind. I try not to shrink for anyone.

My laughter is light, and my voice rises in tempo. A dance between light and shade, of seriousness and lightheartedness, I am just me. I am more than my outward appearance”