I have this crooked picture frame
It sits high on the wall, colored blue
Like my eyes. And every day, I fix it
Every single day. But it always slips
And crooked it becomes again.

My little brother comes in one day
And sees me get mad. I grab the picture
Fingers wet and crash it to the ground.
It breaks into pieces.

His eyes, so curious and young, get blurry
With tears. He’s never seen me get mad
Before. I look down at my feet
And I pick up the pieces.

He tries to help as I start to cry
Too. We both cry in silence.
I pick up the picture of a heart I drew
Ages ago.

He looks up at me and smiles so easy. But
I shake my head.
Some things you just can’t fix.