Cornea

Cornea: (n) the transparent anterior part of the eye covering the iris and the pupil

“All those in favor…”

“The eyes have it.”

They really do. It’s been talked about poetically throughout the generations.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

“The eyes are the windows to the soul.”

“The light of the body is the eye.”

“The eyes never lie.”

If all of this is true, aside from correcting my eyesight through glasses or surgery, what can I do to convey to others through my cornea, sincerity?

Nothing. That’s the beauty of the eyes:

  • They cannot be “enlisted” in a plan for deception.
  • They cannot be instructed in devious forms of flitting.

Generally speaking, they give away the intention of the heart long before the lips have a chance to spit out a deceitful explanation.

Yes, the tongue speaks deception; the ears are often deaf.

But the eyes see it all and tell it all.

Perhaps that’s why we don’t like to make eye contact with one another. We know our brothers and sisters on Earth “read” us through those portals.

Yes, it is safer to be downcast or to put on the darkest pair of sunglasses you can find, and keep the world guessing.

Because once you unmask those beautiful peepers, they begin to speak volumes on the contents within.

I don’t know much about the actual cornea, but I do know that it is where we are guaranteed to speak the truth, although all of our other members may be trying to launch a sinful plan.


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Belly

Belly: (n) the front part of the human trunk below the ribs, containing the stomach and bowels.

Dictionary B

I’ve always tried to stay optimistic because if I become downcast, I see my belly, which only adds to the depression.

I don’t know whether you’re supposed to see your belly when you look down. Some people might have a view of other anatomical parts.

But not me.

Since I was a lad of seven, my belly has preceded me into affairs. It pushes itself to the forefront, trying to establish dominance and certainly, advertise other potential character flaws.

I have tried to lose my belly–but apparently there is some sort of snitch in my brain which always informs this large protrusion of my intentions.

The belly protects itself.

If I try to starve it out, it prepares for the siege.

It actually seems to be proud of its acreage. I, on the other hand, keep trying to find pants to cover it up.

I am not alone in this situation. Occasionally, when I stop to look at other people, I see that they, too, have accumulated quite an impressive forerunner to their forthcoming.

In other words, they have big bellies.

I have read that in history, possessing such a large amount of flesh was once considered to be a symbol of prosperity. That was a time when starvation was common, and obesity was evidence that you could put food on your table.

As I write this today, I am not sure that my belly will ever leave.

It is a damn sentimental creature of habit.

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