You Only See Yourself
I try to touch you, try to get near you, but you shy away.
You look at the sky, and I wonder why. You only see yourself in the mirror you hide.
You get closer, but you blur it out, with your breath. Every day I watch you, and every day you stare at yourself.

One day I took you out, to see the lake, you looked down, and saw your face.
I knew that you where looking at yourself. I got closer, and tried to see, but all I could see was the blue sky, as my face. I splash the water, and made it swirl, but all you see it as, is your reflection disappearing. You shove me and push me, yelling and screaming your furry out.

You have calmed down, but I see you, looking around. Sometimes I wonder if you can see the colors of the rainbow, or the colors of the clouds. I ask “What do you see?” And all you’ll say is “I see black.” I think to my self, before answering back. “Can you see white?”