“Smile!” they tell me,
“Cheer up, it’s not so bad.”
I smile sardonically,
retort facetiously,
wriggle an erect finger
from my hand.
I hate being told
what to do,
why can’t they
mind their own business?
Did I ask for their opinions
out of the blue?
Did they believe their words
would be cherished?
In the bar,
I attend to my clothing,
rearranging my hair,
my image,
the crowd jeers, “Princess!”
Like an indignant bird,
I fluff out my plumage.
I understand there
are times
when we must receive
instruction,
but when I’m being told
to smile or
have cheer
by complete strangers,
now that
is in its own rude stratosphere,
I need not their intervention.
Why some people think it’s appropriate
to use “Smile!” as an opening line
is beyond me,
cannot they formulate
a better approach
in their own time?
A resting b***h face
I must surely have,
that pouted or deadly bored expression,
I don’t mean to be
unapproachable though,
look further than my far off,
superficial expressions.
I could be the nicest person
you’ll ever meet,
but if you approach,
instructing me to “Smile!”
be prepared for a verbose fight.
What if I don’t want to smile?
But rather ruminate in that instance?
Understand this, Stranger,
your instruction does not
endear yourself to me,
in fact,
it is an irritation,
an offensive, belligerent bother.
© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay
Music: "Sneaky Snitch" by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/
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