Karen Vanderlaan
Left Over Love
I realize my lot in this life
To retrieve the crumbs of affection
Left over from a mothers plate
Never full to begin with
A father’s love around me
Until I was less convenient
Then I became another recipient
Of the check that was in the mail, not really
The leftovers from the making of love left me
Stumbling and tripping through blinding tears
The touches of lovers’ hands left me
Cold and alone and wanting
So, I am flawed
Something less desirable
Only entitled to leftovers
To never be the most important to anyone
© Karen Vanderlaan
http://www.karenvanderlaan.com
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