If money could talk, the one dollar bill would tell us about shaky hands & white powder, about long thick fingernails & hopeless desperation. He would laugh when he remembered all of the tight waist bands, oily skin, & how the men would cheer as he danced in circles.

If money could talk, The ten dollar bill would shed a tear when he recalled the single mother of four, who handed him over for a cheap, too greasy, dinner in a bag. He would slam his fist on the counter as he begged the troubled boy, too young to be this sad, to put down that needle, it's not over yet.

If money could talk, the penny would tell stories between tears. Stories that he observed from the floor, a story for young girls too blinded by what they "need to look like" to take a look in the ******* mirror, for every boy, who drags sharp metal across his skin just to feel like he's wanted, for every father, who has scraped the bottom of the coffee can for enough coins to buy that bottle, for mothers, who no longer know what to say.

If money could talk, the penny would also smile. He would smile for better days, for long nights sitting in a dark box soon to be donated to those in need. He would smile for every scratch off ticket he has ever won, he would smile, as he shook his head at those who think it's over. He would smile at you, at me.