Family has always been  
a vague concept to me.  
You let me into yours—  
still, I didn’t feel at home.

It takes time to unlearn a broken mold,  
a family so heartless, so cold,  
to find one that truly loves—  
through thick and thin.

At your family’s table,  
laughter rings like wind chimes—  
familiar, effortless, soft.  
Your family leans in, passing bowls with ease;  
My family stands back—hands buried in pockets.

My family could never sit that close  
without shattering glassware,  
or silence heavier  
with every breath.

My family was meant to be broken...  
too many flavors of opinions,  
none who get along,  
forever far from resilience.

Even yours isn’t perfect,  
But their warmth comes so easily
Why does mine freeze at every smile?
You say your family is crazy,
but they show up—  
more than mine ever did.

Some remember me—  
a cousin, a daughter,  
a memory with laughter,  
on quiet Sundays  
when the kettle’s on  
and the world feels soft.  

Others keep me tucked  
in unopened branches—  
too polite to reach,  
too distant to prune,  
unbothered by who's missing whom.

But your family—  
they make it seem effortless,  
being together for a reason  
other than obligation,  
regardless the season.

They love openly,  
and welcome those who are new—  
an additional member to be let in,  
a new story to be explored and loved.  

That’s never how my family was.
Just hands in pockets,
and doors half-closed.
Not even close.