Must I spend my whole life begging

for the crumbs of your affection?


I follow you trying to remain

quiet and unnoticed,


a person who has become nothing is difficult to grab

with the snares of hatred.


My plate is never full,

even when I pile the scraps in the center-


a monument to hunger.


Each day I awake to the rupturing of my stomach

as it pulls me towards you again and again.


A beggar learns that their place is in the aftermath,

once everything that breathes has had their pick.


Fulfillment does not come from a half-eaten peach

or the gristle that still clings to a thigh bone.


This is a way to make a person into not a person-

to teach them that they deserve the leftovers of another’s desire.


Do I not deserve a bounty?


A table overflowing and a place setting

with my name on it.

One thought on “Crumbs

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