My family is a photo, 
     Crafted together neatly, 
     Unaware of the beauty 
      One memory can hold. 
 
    I am the glass cover, 
   Protecting and reflecting, 
The greatness of our masterpiece. 
I shatter in an instant, 
But I can always be replaced 
In spots I can’t appear. 
 
My sister is the ink of the photo, 
Who stands out the most. 
Walked past, sometimes dusted off, 
Standing as a memory, 
A reminder, 
That success is waiting. 
 
My mother is the glue, 
Holding every part together, 
But slowly revealing 
And leaking out of the seams. 
 
My father is the cardboard, 
The questionable support. 
Damaged and clearly bent out 
After a long day of labor. 
 
 
The world around us, 
Is the wooden frame. 
Pretending to be polished. 
In reality we’re not perfect, 
But nowhere near demolished.