on the tram. where i think.

Sunday, September 02, 2007

i hate it.
whenever my grandma tries to pry open with her feeble fingers, to force in those crumpled dollar notes into my hands.
i hate it.
whenever she scolds me for turning down of the money.
i hate it.
whenever she insists even further, rendering my violent rejections futile.
i hate it.
that a pair of movie tickets, an entrance into a club or a fancy good meal could cost those notes.
i hate it.
knowing that a young punk like me could spend those dollars in a whiff once i step out.


for all i've got. i'm not worth those few crumpled dollars really.

t