Walking in the open field of bodies, Passing by passer bys, Watching the watchers watching. My eyes lock eyes with someone who didn’t look at me, Seeing them witness me exist, Feeling embarrassed for existing in their line of sight. I have never felt more scared to be witnessed, Than through the eyes of someone I never knew, Feeling like they saw me, And saw something ugly and strange. I can’t help but see the wrinkles, Of judging eyes filled with sorrow, And wonder what it was that stole the light in their eyes. Was it me? Am I a bad thing? Am I wrong for existing? Because they see me, And they see the wrinkles in my eyes, Seeing the same sorrow, I wonder if they wonder the same things I do, Feeling alone in a moment that meant nothing. A million things could be happening in my mind, A thousand other things to worry about, And for a whole day I can only see those glaring eyes, Making me want to hide in my darkened room, Knowing that they will be there the second I leave. “It feels so embarrassing to be alive” Behind eyes that witness me walk by, I place my own flaws and hatefulness, Because what else could possibly see me? Neither pairs of eyes can imagine what the other is thinking, But we venture to guess and assume, All in the endless pursuit to see those eyes, That looks at us in wonder.
Alejandro Barton-Negreiros, ’23