The Way You See Me

 Your eyes— 

they don’t just look at me, 

they see me. 

 

Not in passing, not in pieces, 

but wholly, fully, deeply. 

 

I like to see myself through them. 

My smile, my thoughts, 

my confusions, my stupidities, 

my small joys and quiet fears. 

The fire in my voice, 

the hesitation in my steps. 

You catch it all. 

 

You see the child still tucked inside me, 

wide-eyed and wondering. 

You see the rebel, restless and wild. 

You see the woman, learning to stand tall. 

You see the past that shaped me, 

the present that molds me, 

the future I am afraid to claim. 

 

You dream of heights for me,

I don't dare name. 

You see strength where I see doubt. 

You believe in me when I falter. 

You hold space for a version of me 

I haven’t yet learned to trust.

 

But I love the me that you see. 

The me that you know. 

The me you refuse to let shrink. 

The me you build 

with your faith, 

your patience, 

your quiet certainty. 

 

You see me—

wholly, completely, deeply.

Not just the person I am,

but the one I’m still becoming.

You see the cracks and the light,

and you hold space for all of it.


You see me, even when I can’t.


And that—

that has made all the difference.


13.02.2025

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