
We are all broken
in various pieces,
a puzzle of insecurities
and family scars.
We all burry stories
we do not tell
and secrets
we take to the grave.
Within our genes
a family history itches
from centuries below.
We repeat.
Until we do not.
Whereas
all we long for
in our individual,
endearing way
is to be loved.
Why then is something
so evident
so hard to achieve?