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When she was eight, she took a school photo
Pulled her hair over her shoulders, sat up straight and tall
Smiled for the camera, waited for the flash.
In art they made frames, said it was for mother’s day
And she painted hers blue – because that was her favorite color
Sprinkled it with glitter, centered her portrait.
Stowed it in her backpack, mindful the whole way home.
 
“Who did your hair?” He laughed.
And she shrugged, thinking – at least he’s smiling.
 
When she was nine, she took a school photo
Remembered to pull her hair back, wore a headband with a bow
Used hairspray for the first time, carried a comb in her pocket.
Inside, a woman grabbed her chin, twisted her face
Told her to smile – bigger – bigger – show everyone your pretty teeth
Now look at the camera, try it saying cheese.
And she obliged, because maybe the lady knew better than she did.
 
“We really should get you braces,” He grunted.
And she shrugged, knowing they could never afford it.

And so it was, every year.
 
“Why do you have such a goofy grin?”
“That shirt is sloppy.”
“Still learning how to do your makeup, huh?”
“You should really start running…”
“Guess there won’t be a boyfriend this year, will there?”
 
By fifteen, she photographed at three feet tall.
 
When she was sixteen, she decided, fuck it – ditched the school photo
Sat in the parking lot, hiding behind her best friend’s car
Told her mom she was in chem lab, working on titration.
And now she never volunteers for photographs
Shrugs – says, I’m just really shy
And anyway, she thinks, what’s the point?
She’s much taller in real life, anyway.