I see her often,
That young woman with sad, troubled eyes.
Her vacant stare looks through me.
What troubles her so?

She was once a strong, Black woman!
But the world has made her weak.
So weak,
That sometimes, she doesn’t feel she can hold on.
But what does she have
To hold onto?
Pain and loneliness are her sole companions.

So many thoughts
Of love and joy swirl through her mind
Like watercolors, beautiful colors…
They are far away.
She is lost-
Or maybe she has lost her mind.
And so she writes,
Because you see the pen is mightier than the sword
Or so someone once said.
Still her pain is dry and hot
Like the blue of a flame
And burns from within.

Eyes are the windows to the soul.
The ugliness of the world is reflected in her empty eyes.
Because Zora said, “the Black woman is the mule of the world.”
The doormat of society, the scapegoat of her community.

Eyes of a young, Black woman.
If you look closely, you will see they are mine.