“i. i was twelve years old when our next door neighbor noticed the way my right shoulder blade stuck out more than the other, like asymmetrical mountains on the landscape of my adolescent back, as if an earthquake had taken place between my bones and no one had bothered to clean up the rubble. i was crooked. ii. i was fourteen years old when the doctor sliced me open from the base of my neck to the small of my back like a zipper to reveal my twisted spine, stretched out my vertebrae with titanium rods and screwed them into place – straightened me up, so to speak, but i came out of the operating room still feeling crooked. iii. i was sixteen years old the first time you ran your fingers down my scar, told me how beautifully they had put me back together and for once, i was okay with being crooked. iv. it's hard to love crooked things and crooked people with crooked backs and crooked teeth and crooked souls, but un-crooked you taught me how and i loved you with all my crooked heart.”