I was born inside a picture frame One filled with expectations of our family name One that leans proudly against the bedroom wall One that holds stories, both big and small And don't get me wrong, I love that picture. A mere reminder of our well-written future. But there's a problem with the picture frame. We all smile brightly within the wooden border. But the picture frame is taped and glued together. It's messy. It's falling. Held by scotch tape. We're slowly breaking because of the family name. But it's still family within the picture frame.