‘Smile mate’,
He said it like it wasn’t ever my default.
Smiling used to weigh so much less.
Now,
to conjure,
to bring it to surface,
carries with it,
too heavy an anchor of worldly – of wordy miseries.
Why then, would I smile with such a grim view of who I am?
There isn’t a life jacket strong enough,
to lift me out of the rip,
of murky opinion of myself.
I can’t floss my teeth,
purge my stomach,
exfoliate my skin,
enough to find it in me any more,
and fake one more pearly white,
when everything I do,
is in absence of light.
Lethargic lips,
squinted eyes,
and teeth stained with what you’ve been chewing on,
aren’t very photogenic.
W.E.
