I’m not interested in watching figures
accumulate on a back-lit screen,
the modern day fairy tale,
perceiving abundance in counting zeros.
I try to outrun the voices
of well-meaning role models
who sit on both sides of
a whole neighbourhood of fences,
whispering the soundest of advice
while I’m just laying the foundation
of a Lego brick fort to hold my opinions.
I’m not interested in money.
When I lean in for the sound of my own voice,
spoken in code decipherable
only by the white noise of 3am,
worry seems as distant as a memory
looked at from underwater,
yet I walk bent over from
the headlock fear has me in.
We make for a comical pair:
me hunched, doing mental math
and muttering numbers at the ground,
him giggling at my dogged persistence
and eating Cheetos so orange flakes
collect in my hair.
I never wanted to be rich.
I want to dance in a red dress
through a golden sky,
to count all the stardust I will never own;
to have the freedom to look
as long as my eyes allow, at the sun.
I want to pull coins from my pockets
and see them turn to rocks in my hands,
throw them to the lake
and see all the waters rise with their weight,
just that little bit.
That would be enough.
Does someone have a estimate for that?
P.S. If you like, check out my Etsy store and support The Humane League!