Under The Table, You Get Scraps Poem by Casey Renee Kiser / snail viXen

he said i wasn't any kind
of centerfold,
he'd seen it all before and really,
i was barely a centerpiece,
more like a side dish
or corner crumbs
of a side dish,
worthy of only plastic utensils

i sat with my stuffed animals
under the table
until Shame left the room
my inner child mumbled
something about bedtime
and nightlights, i said,
'shhhh, you're not helping'

i only came out from under
his splintered table when
the hunger
took hold of my tongue,
whipping me around and back
into shape