Perfect Broken Home
A perfect home is a lie,for even a picture perfect family face miseries
and has ugly mysteries;
A perfect home is a lie,
a lie that may be necessary,
to hide the cracks behind broken histories,
to freeze only the beautiful part of the story.
My broken home is perfect for me,
I believe in this lie religiously,
though there are definitely moments of jealousy,
when “ideal” families tell tales of wedding anniversaries
and birthday parties,
together as a family;
though there are times I try to create fake memories
of us all going for a picnic or a movie,
together as a family.
My broken family is perfect for me,
I believe in this lie religiously,
though I sometimes do try to imagine how my life would be,
if there’s no choosing between mummy and daddy,
if for once I could say “I am going home” to a home that is ours,
not to mum’s house or dad’s.
My broken home is perfect for me,
I believe in this lie religiously,
for I know there’s also beauty in this story,
although even I sometimes can’t see.
In this story,
I get to see
dad finding love again after every heartbreak;
In this story,
I get to be there when things ends badly
and mum is left lonely;
I get to hold them softly,
tell them gently,
“Don’t worry, you still have me”.
My broken home is perfect for me,
I believe in this lie religiously,
As a kid,
I was happy that I get to list down the “aunties”
dad sees into likes and dislikes,
the more chocolate they gave me
the more I’ll tell daddy good stories.
As a kid,
I was me happy that I get to mercilessly guilt mum
into buying me gifts
for the nights that she have missed
my goodnight kiss,
As a kid,
I believe that this is the picture of a happy family
how mummies and daddies are supposed to be.
My broken home is perfect for me,
I believe in this lie religiously,
It is nothing like you see in movies,
we are as normal as can be, trust me.
My broken home is perfect for me,
a lie maybe,
but one that I will hold on firmly.
