look, your smile cannot be captured in a photograph,

where the curl of your lips is frozen

with the time of a snap

in those stillborn pixels.

accurate but not happening.

your smile cannot be conjured in a mirror.

you prod your cheeks and push your lips upward.

your face contorts.

you sigh and you swallow the slimy taste of self

-hate that’s stuck in your teeth

like unfortunate left-over food.

your face stares back,

devoid of emotion.

yours but not real.

you think that

the only times you do smile,

it is plastered beneath your nose,

making you look like "some alien”.

you never see it the way I do.

your smile blooms on your lips

like buds waking to soft petals,

tickling your eyes in the sunlight

when you're not smiling to be pretty,

but when you're smiling for yourself.