My family is like a broken toy.
Torn apart and disfunctional.
My dad is the screws, who tried his best to keep us together.
But in the end, his best just wasn't good enough.
So he gave up, and watched, as we all slowly but surely fell apart.
My mother is the paint, appearing to be unaffected and bright.
When in reality, she's more tarnished than you would ever believe.
Proving, that things aren't always as they seem to be.
My brothers are the main structure, clinging to one another for support.
Although their relationships aren't always full proof, they're held together by an unbreakable bond.
Always able to rely on each other in times of need.
I am the shattered pieces of plastic, scattered every which way.
Broken beyond repair.
Bewildered by my surroundings, uncapable of pulling myself together.
Whispering how things were almost perfect...
But almost perfect, isn't the same as perfect is it?