If one more person tells me to fucking smile,
I might actually smile.
I’ll smile bright and wide,
full of joy,
white shiny teeth,
lip gloss perfectly applied
across my stretched cupid’s bow,
while I pull the meat of your intestines
from the hole I just ripped into your throat.
Then, I will continue to smile
as you make gurgling noises;
your body spitting out blood
onto my smiling face.
For some of you,
this might seem a bit harsh
or graphic to say the least.
But I will tell you one thing.
I have fought long and hard,
through years and years
of society’s norms, media garbage,
and my own family telling me what people want to see:
pluck your eyebrows,
sit up straight,
close your legs,
fix your hair,
wear jewelry,
suck it in,
that doesn’t match,
isn’t that dress a little too short?,
to finally feel like I am not only in control of my body,
but that I have the right to be.
Not only do you have absolutely no business talking to me,
you have absolutely no right to tell me what to do.
If my not smiling makes you uncomfortable,
I will absolutely smile for you.
Just know if I’m smiling, you won’t be.