Going to an all girls school,
the one thing that kept us
outside the gates of adulthood
was chain linked inside our mouths
Braces
made us all feel like we
were made of rusted nails
and anything that said we
couldn’t be touched

The day
a classmate had her braces removed
was the day she became a woman
**** a bat mitzvah or a period
An inviting smile gleaming
like ivory castles in a
new Facebook profile picture
meant she became everything
that was glory

By my junior year,
I was the only one left
with a mouth brimming
full of metal
I was just as awkward
as my smile
Grew so accustomed to
feeling alone in a sea of crowded
that I let myself become faceless
Avoided school dances
because I was convinced
my skin didn’t want to be held
But in all of this,
I ironically felt small for the first time
the day my braces came off

Felt myself sink in the
abundance of “Oh my god,
you’re so pretty now”
On a date with my middle school
crush, he licked the ridges
of my teeth as we kissed
Told me I became
“so hot” by senior year
This was when I realized
for the past 8 years
no one had ever
touched me with purpose
As if the day my teeth
became aligned with
everyone’s idea of beauty
then I was worthy of being stared at

Suddenly,
modeling agencies wanted
to freeze frame all the firefly
sun bleeding out my face
My mouth became so fuckable
boys would tell me how good
I’d be at swallowing all of them
Girls, became nothing
but the chatter of crows
telling people pretty was
all my womanly bones
were good for

I started wanting to pull out my teeth,
one by one, hang them around
my neck then ask: “How much of a
wishing well does my smile
look to you now?”
So, don’t call me pretty
Call my mouth ******
Call me an open wound
made of honesty
I am everything mangled and crooked
I am everything vicious
I am the gap in my teeth
headgear couldn’t fix
Tell me I am a broken violin bow
when I speak my mind
I’ll tell you to shut up
as I become a
symphony of graceless rage
My words
a deliverance of
God’s best sermon
My soul
is the brightest firework
your open hands can try
catching but never will

When we’re taught as girls that
the only thing to aspire to as a
woman is having a desirable face
It makes my body want to wrap
itself in all that is ugly
So don’t ever call me pretty
As if my smile burning
golden like its own sun
depended on your compliments
I have always been night sky
crawling her way to morning
I have drowned here
I have survived here
I am nothing but a holy resurrection
of self love standing before you
knee deep in past insecurities
So, Remember that the next time you
want to compliment me
and call me miracle instead