it took me nineteen years to realize that sometimes
you are the five year old child with sixty cents of hard earned pennies in your sweaty hand
and even though you smashed your piggy bank and clenched your fist around your life earnings
and counted it out loud at the register one at a time
that little red bike with the horn isn't meant for you
because sixty cents can't buy love
and all of the tears in the world will never change the fact that every particle of your being wasn't enough for a soul like his