"Two Degrees"
Everything’s always
just a little off—
like teacups set askew
on a table that breathes too hard,
or mirrors that tilt
without anyone touching them.
I split between echoes,
names I didn’t ask for
etched like vines
on the walls of my mind.
Rooms with no doors
and too many windows.
The center never held—
always two degrees to the left,
a fraction from fine,
a whisper off-pitch.
People say “just be whole”
like that’s something I lost
on the way to survival.
But today
I’m finally numb enough
to wear a smile
that doesn’t ache,
not perfect—
but it doesn’t bleed either.
And maybe that’s something.
Maybe that’s enough.
these words are spells