wine and bread God said

the real question goes to my parents.

i keep picking my bleeding skin
scrubbing with a tough bread
the bread that i inherited
the one i guess, deserved.

i was the last one,
the bread wasn't fine
but God told me to love it
to love it, it's mine.

this very piece of bread
seemed like a sad one
how am i supposed to love it
is there no return?

i looked at this bread for decades 
wasting my precious time
how do i make it eat- worthy
consume with some wine.

the bread was dry and tasteless
the crumbs all over the room
this bread story was a huge mess
a sorrow that fills the gloom.

i tried to love the bread
shred some tears to add some taste
but the bread was dry and pathetic
there's nothing to be changed.

the bread made me question
am i even enough
why was i invited to get a piece
a piece that is tough.

was this a punishment?
a manifestation?
then i had a sudden realization.

some of us get a bread
the one we can't eat
while others get baguettes
and some butter with it.

i was not enough
neither was this bread
this was a simple message from God
i'm bleeding
the sad truth was said.