Every corner of every room
the table, the shades on the window, the potted plants,
no matter if I closed on eye or 
cocked my head, everything felt
                          slightly crooked

I'd clean it off, wipe it down, scoot it over
dust them, straighten them, open and close them,
water them, sun them, and rearrange them.
Despite how many times I tried, everything felt 
                           slightly ... no, terribly
crooked

It started with the furniture, but when the mirror 
looked back at me, the face in it wasn't even mine.
The greasy paint only pointed to empty eyes.
The hairs that shot from my skull never sat right.
Soft hues and floral never flattered my skin.

Deep despair gripped me, as I decided I was 
             crooked

Years passed, friends became strangers,
(probably due to my crookedness)
But a face that used to be crooked like mine, said otherwise.
Just like the furniture, they had rearranged themselves,
and asked, "Why don't you?"

So I threw out the paint and 
cut the hairs until they fit and 
chose patterns that suited me.

Now, the table stays in place.
The shades only move when the sun flows through.
The plants thank me for the water, and for letting them rest.
Even the mirror looks at me and occasionally 
smiles.