If I had a penny
for every time you erased my voice
I could live in a paid eternity
of deception.

My cheeks would chew on the ends
of wet sentences
and beat verbs into mundane silences
all to offer up that thick taste of sound
for a penny’s price.

I could buy myself
a pair of Hercules’ hands
that would cripple my voice for you
into bites of gray whispers,
so you wouldn’t have to be bothered
by its scream.

I could buy myself
an elaborate mask of smiles
to paste onto my lips
that would let sweet, black lies
crawl into the shallow depths of your eardrums,
so as not to bother your tainted truths
with veracity.

If I had a penny
for every feeling or thought
you allowed my tongue to motion
I would earn one cent
and waste it on a wish
that my thoughts
would be worth more to you
than an imprinted slab of copper.