My Mother’s Eyes

Her eyes were the first thing I learned to fear,
Not her words, not her hands—just her eyes.
Her eyes were oceans—
Not of warmth, but of storms,
Crashing waves of sadness and anger,
Never for me, but always at me.
They always pulled me under before I could swim.

I searched their depths for love,
For softness, for light—
But love was a language her eyes never spoke.
All I ever found,
Was the shadow of someone,
Someone I did not know how to be.

I memorized their shifting moods,
Learned the warnings in their flickers,
I learned when to step lightly, when to disappear.
A glance could silence me,
A glare could shatter me.
When they turned away,
It was a rejection sharper than any blade.
When they lingered too long,
I shrank, bracing for the storm.

Her eyes were a locked door,
A question without an answer.
Did they ever hold love?
Did she ever see me?
Did she want to?
Or was I only ever meant to drown?