written at a very low moment

I realize my lot in this life
To retrieve the crumbs of affection
Left over from a mother’s plate
Never full to begin with

A father’s love around me
Until I was less than convenient
Then I became another recipient
Of the check that was always in the mail-not really

The leftovers from the making of love
Left me stumbling and tripping through blinding tears
The touches of lover’s hands left me
Cold and alone and wanting.

So, I am flawed
Something less than desirable
Only entitled to leftovers
To never be the most important anything to anyone