Bite Me, But Make It Fashion.
They said,
“You should smile more.”
Like it was some kind of spiritual exfoliant.
Like rearranging my face would make the world suck less.
So I did.
I smiled.
All gums. All danger.
That unsettling, too-wide grin you only see in crime documentaries and DMV photos taken after a nervous breakdown.
I forgot my teeth were in crooked.
The top row was on strike.
The bottom row had a gap wide enough for trauma to fall through.
These weren’t “dental.” They were ancestral.
Inherited from five generations of bite-back b*tches who survived everything with a laugh, a limp, and one chipped molar between them.
But still—I bit.
Not in rage.
In clarity.
Like a warning shot.
Like “You don’t know what I’ve been chewing through just to stand here politely while you weaponize customer service energy at my face.”
They backed off.
Probably to Google “rabies symptoms” and reconsider their whole damn life.
Because here’s the truth:
Telling someone to smile when they’re holding on by dental adhesive and unresolved childhood trauma?
That’s not advice.
That’s a dare.
Smiling is not surrender.
It’s a trigger warning with contour.
It’s mascara with bite radius.
It says, “I survived the kind of sh*t that would make you cry in a Walgreens bathroom, and I still floss on occasion.”
And yeah—maybe my teeth aren’t perfect.
But neither was your tone, Brenda.
If I’m gonna bite,
you’ll hear the click first.
And you better pray I left the top row in the car.
So the next time someone says “Smile more”?
I’ll smile, alright.
And if they’re lucky, I’ll keep my jaw to myself.
But if not?
They’re getting a face full of generational grit, recycled trauma, and a bite mark that spells “boundaries.”
‘Smile More’ — I Did. Then I Bit Someone.
They said “cheer up,” I said “why?”
Then flashed a grin that made them cry.
Smiling doesn’t fix the mood—
It hides the bite. So now they’re chewed.
I smiled through pain, through gaslight haze,
Till one day, boom—unleashed my blaze.
Now I smile with teeth and edge—
Consider this grin a razor’s wedge.
—The Funny Phoenix, flossing with red flags
