Words: Eilidh McDade (she/her)
At the age of 17 i threw my retainer away after countless years of orthodontist visits
My bottom row of teeth
n
now sit w o k
y and obtrusive
poke hOles in conversations, p r o t r u d e
out of my face
like a bunch of prIcKLy thorns.
My mother reminds me how much time i have wasted
how much pain i have endured
for these tiny little bones
to sit Nice and Neat in the squidgy warmth of my gums.
I remind HER
that tiny little bones
should not be bound with metal
to be bent into perfection.
Lately i have been dabbling in the art of
self-liberation
daring to
- sport rings of clashing metals
- slot an array of colourful clips into my hair
- drown myself in layers of mis-matching fabrics gingham stripes and cheetah-print
giving high-school-art-teacher realness!
Lately my room has descended into cultivated chaos
“you messy maximalist trinket hoarder”
draped in collages and old letters and glittery cut-out paper stars
porcelain Swedish cats and D-I-Y sock puppets
(it’s getting weird in here)
These days I pass the Bechdel test with flying colours
these days I
moon!!!!!!
the
for
shoot
know when to say yes
and how to say no
speak both loudly AND on purpose
These days dressing myself up
feels a lot like stripping things down
these days
my tiny little wonky bones
know how it feels to be adored.
