I am the crooked tile in what could’ve been
art. A small, yet obvious, twist in normalcy.
Once realized, nothing but a degenerative force
shifting the foundations of the groundwork
strewn around. I believed this difference
beautiful: a wonderful wearing on sameness,
eroding the semblance of which we can grow
accustomed. I realize now my coil is a quirk,
curling others, a jerk to ruin a masterpiece.
*As always, let me know what you think. I've also written this one in another form/style...let me know if you want to see it.
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