Sometimes I feel like the last slice of pizza in the box.
And that my worth is determined by the people in the room.
If everyone was concerned about their image?
I'd be cast aside, forgotten.
If everyone in the room were desperate, hungry people?
I'd be eaten alive, fought over, all for nothing.
If everyone were full of pride?
I'd be sitting there, alone. Waiting for someone unashamed to pick me up at last.
But if everyone in the room were real people?
There wouldn't be a second thought about it.
I'd be loved and cherished just as a slice of pizza should be.
YOU ARE READING
Over The Ledge
Poetry"Little do you know how I'm breaking while you fall asleep" Some people turn to alcohol Some turn to drugs I have words.
