Crooked

September 24, 2017
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I was born crooked
I was born bent 
We were created contorted
We were morphed malformed 
Debated to be constructed as vessels 
For part destruction and part vanity 
Yet little did they know 
That we were truly sculpted 
With portions of simplicity 
And fragments of credulousness 
Thinking we could stay the shape
We loved
Imagining others would embrace the shape
We loved 
As we grew and as we leaned
We saw the ones around us
Show such up-right postures
We began to mold
Ourselves into up-right structures
Yet as we struggled against the flow
Of our bodies 
We always knew we would never 
Never truly be the vertical masterpieces
That surrounded us
Some of us took their own clay
And began to water it down 
So to be able to see themselves in the mirror again
Some of us simply covered the mirror 
Placing a rag over the spaces
We could never clean
Then there were those of us 
That simply shattered
Their fragile bodies falling
From the open cupboard 
And shiver upon the tiled floor
Their tears once fell on
Rippling like the sorrows they once had
They were born crooked 
Thus was their punishment
Crookedly executed 
And those of us left
The distorted ones left
Like the elephant in the bedroom 
And the skeleton in the closet 
We are left to fade and splinter
Blowing kisses on a gust too feeble 
And wishing on stars that dim and disperse 
Seeing these stars as our souls
We become the stars that dissolve, explode
And flicker out 
We were born crooked 
Conceived upon shivering, shattering 
Skies 
I can still see those lights
Fade as the lamp posts darken
And it's then that I realize 
Those stars and those vases
Along with the abandoned clay and the broken backs 
From trying to align with the wrong constellation 
Have not truly ended
But begin again
For a lamp post only dims
When the sun begins to rise 
We were born crooked 
But our crookedness never dies






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