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.