Our eyes are mysterious; driven lenses, full of exposure. The moonlight stood still in the face of adaptation. Looking forward, i saw growth. Her eyes were dull. Iris, like the flower. Her mustard colored skin made her different than all of us. Her haircut was crooked, but in an endearing light. She followed the paths I set out for her. Thin and glass-like, rooting from the ground. Her body followed the current of the ocean. As much as I was warned, i picked her from where she had begun. Fools, trampling over her memories. It was hard to believe she felt more than alive.
Copy-paste your work into online services such as the Hemingway app. It will suggest some changes for clarity. You can edit there and then copy-paste into another service and so on if you think you need more "eyes" on your work. Try to learn some general lessons in the process.