on looking eyes — Summary

I look out across the sea of eyes Their all on me And mine dart rapidly looking from face to face Then away from them, not meeting their gaze Looking for a way out But I’m trapped Questions are shot like bullets from all directions They rickashay through my head Barely being processed before another comes Eyes burning holes through my skin I can’t move, don't make the suspect something, anything I’ve been put in the spotlight unwillingly Like a cylinder cell it traps me When I say “no” you ask again I tell you I don’t like it – you say I love the attention But I really don’t At the first question asked I feel myself hold my breath As they keep coming I begin to shake, not that you will see I’d like to be left alone to be honest But I’m court in a trap If I do nothing they’ll keep asking If I do something they’ll laugh I feel judged and out of place As though what I said or did was wrong or not normal You tell me you liked it or just thought it was funny I can’t tell if that’s what you really think I have this underlying feeling that you’re making a joke of me Yet don’t want to believe it So i can feel liked or appreciated for once I don’t want to be put under so much pressure You may find this strange, you may misunderstand You probably feel that you were just being nice Or you were “just asking” But you don’t understand and may never do so I can’t process everything you ask all at once I don’t like to stand out (I’d like not to be seen at all sometimes) And to have everyone looking at me makes me uneasy I feel like you expect more than I can give or will criticize me when you don’t understand I’d like to share what I like doing but I’m scared I feel unwanted by society and judged for being different Trapped by everyone and everything including my condition I don’t mind you asking questions but one at a time would be nice And I know that it's polite to look At the person your talking to But don't do it so intensely Don't look into my eyes I fear you'll see how much I want to hide

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Imagine being asked a barrage of questions while a whole room stares at you. That is the situation the speaker describes. The questions feel like bullets, the stares burn, and the speaker can't think fast enough to answer before the next one lands. Outwardly they stay still, but inside they are holding their breath and shaking, "not that you will see."

What makes the poem painful is the speaker's doubt. They can't tell whether the people asking are being kind or quietly laughing at them, and they half-want to believe the kind version so they can feel appreciated. Near the end they mention "my condition" and feeling judged for being different, though the poem doesn't say what that condition is.

The mood is anxious and claustrophobic, but the ending is gentle. The speaker doesn't ask for much: one question at a time, and a little less intense eye contact. The final lines admit what they are really afraid of, being seen.

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