People say words are cheap,
yet, I still bought yours.
Words probably stolen from the finest Goodwill,
yet, I let it slide,
because I longed to experience how it feels.
You see, I was too poor to recognize
a scam camouflaged with
interesting, warm phrases
that froze my heart colder than Alaska ever could,
costing me my warmth for a while.
I was consciously, constantly investing my neatly made piles of hope
into your cheap words and mutual smile,
looking for a tax return.
That’s when I had to learn
that W-2’s don’t apply to this situation.
No, more of a reason to be patient.
My heart, like my pockets, vacant.
No longer making efforts to give you more of a value
than what I had already taken.
Shook by the words that I viewed as absolute
until I realized you and your words were faking.
Constantly stealing my quarters as I sleep, but now I’ve awaken,
knowing your words are cheap counterfeits,
I’mma start back saving.
I’mma keep counting it, mounting it
back up, higher than before
because I’m done investing anymore of my dime,
I mean, my time