My Leftovers! ! ! Poem by WIN VENTURA

You wear my leftovers
As though you've won a prize,
Yet everyone who knows the story
Can still see through the disguise.

Before there was comfort,
There was struggle.
Before there was laughter,
There were tears no one applauded.

I stood beside the man
When dreams were only dust.
I built a family from the ground,
With faith, with love, with trust.

Brick by brick,
Year by year,
I gave my youth, my strength, my name.
No passing shadow can erase
The fire from which I came.

You arrived when the harvest ripened,
When the storms had lost their roar.
You picked the fruit with eager hands,
Yet never sowed before.

Now you call it yours...
Tell me—
Can borrowed seasons become your spring?
Can stolen sunshine truly sing?
Can another woman's sacrifice
Ever become your victory?
NO... NEVER! !

Because every child,
Every friend remembers.
Every soul that witnessed the journey
Knows exactly who built this home.

My fingerprints are on the walls...
They live in every life I lifted,
Every dream I helped to grow,
Every heart that walked beside me.

You may wear what I left behind,
But you'll never wear my story.

Keep the leftovers.
Keep the illusion.
Keep the borrowed name.
For what is taken without honour
Never rests in peace.

Truth has a patient voice.
And every deed
Returns to the hands
That first set it free.

You inherited what I built...
You may inherit my leftovers...
But never my legacy.

By: - WIN VENTURA