My legs wet sandbags.
My eyelids leaded curtains.
My bones rusted gears.
This hour of the morning doesn't come easy, but it does come fast.
My calves are aching from leading four hours of lecture in four inch heels. Why did I do that?
Eavesdropping on the students one day, Nina overheard them list my name in the "Top Three Hottest Teachers" category. I laughed out loud.
How easily these corn-fed boys are trapped into ranking beauty by blonde highlights and knee high boots. Would they think so highly of me if they heard my dirty mouth? If they knew my secrets? If they saw my body covered in ink? Certainly not if they heard me sing the words to Razorblade like I mean it.
Those boys have no idea how truly fucking beautiful I am.
And yet, I wake up early to scrape away the sand, peel off the lead and paint over the rust. I apply a new face and dress up as if my mother had ever taught me how to be pretty.