I Grew Up Poor

I watch time get stuck in the honey that coats black counter tops

Every minute some fraction of a dollar that's a fraction too little

Because my time is valuable but only just

And it's all sickly sweet and addictive

My feet ache from a want to do something, no, not that

They ache to sit still while I create

To make so much money that I can buy with my eyes closed

Because it's fear right? Keeps me wanting and moving

Movement can't be freedom when each step has a goal

Dollar tags wrap their dollar signs around my throat

Choking out words and songs and how can I help you today

When the right question is how much am I making from this

So when reality bends and warps and becomes viscous

And every movement takes more than I have to give

It's easier to sink into the sugary monotonous march

Of a wallet that'll never quite get its fill