Her eyes
Filled
With shades of
Self-loathing
Sadness
Guilt
Regret
And hopelessness.

I told her,
We were born
Out of this,
Not
Into this.

I told her,
We will find it
Another
Way.

She nodded
Put her
Lips
To her tea cup
And sipped,
Her eyes
Still tainted
With the look
Of something that
Could have been
If only
There had been.

Her slippered
Footsteps
Slid across
The light beige
Wooden floor
Of our apartment
As music no one
Wanted to hear
Played below.

I listened to her
Door shut
In a disintegrated
Whoosh of self-worth.

I've seen
One of
The most

Beautiful
Open
Vulnerable
Tough
Playful
Joyous
Adventurous
­Complex
Complicated
Brave
Self-less
Powerful  and
Independent

Women
I've
Ever met

Brought down
By the shame
Of not having enough
To invest enough
Just to make more.

Money
Can collapse
The greatest of Goddesses

And give shrines
To the most
Horrible of Devils.

Fortunately,
We all get to choose
Where we hang our heads
And
Pray.

So,
Let ye' never crumble
From the charming facade
Of security or worth
From the penny and the dime.

Seek those
Who see,
Appreciate, love, and yearn
For your warmth
With nothing
But your hyperactive soul
When you have near or next
To nothing.

And,
If there is no one,
There is you.

There is always you.

See the river
Beyond the dollar.

See the Goddess
Beyond
The missed opportunities.

We are merely chances
In a world
Forever
Shedding its skin.

The ideology
Of money
Is a truth of necessities

A labyrinth
Of loop holes
And whispers,
Analytics,
Greed,
And moral silicone.

It is not us.
It wants us to think it is us.
But,

It

Is not us.