You can’t buy sunflowers with food stamps.

I’ve waited in my fair share of lines to find out first hand. But I’ve never allowed what I can’t afford to prevent me from what I can provide. Didn’t grow up with a lot so when the stove wasn’t on I learned how to vent. Been traveling on the road less taken for so long I’ve rummaged through enough front lawns to learn how to leave trails of rose pedals that led from doormats to pillow cases. Hallelujah I never got caught trespassing. Habitual line crosser. Never been afraid of being in touch with my feminine side. But I’ve always questioned if I’m man enough.

Enough radio listens and you would believe your love was for sale. In any case I wouldn’t have what it takes to be the highest bidder. I’ve been reluctant to admit I’m a cheap date because you deserve gourmet dishes swallowed with champagne I can’t pronounce but I’m really good at using my resources. I’m a bargain shopper how else I find you? What a steal. I’ve collected enough coupons to fill a gift basket with goodies and I specialize in rooftop views of the skyline or beach side conversations with white wine if that’s what you’re into. And if you can’t recall since you’ll laughed till tears balled I know a bar in San Francisco available we can karaoke until they kick us out.

I don’t have an accountant so I’m counting on the fact you’re not expecting me to break the bank to show you I care. If you’re impressed with Instagram likes & hashtags than pay my ideas and gestures no thought. You don’t want any scrub. But if you want a man to spoil you then you gotta be there in the times he can’t. And I’m willing to scrub every dish in the city counterclockwise to save up enough pennies to spend a day throwing each one of them in a wishing well until one came true. If you don’t believe in European folklore or not superstitious by nature we can paddle canoe to the middle of nowhere to get a better view of what’s on the horizon.

I don’t own private islands. I don’t come with hideaways in the Hampton’s. But I own a lot of patience. The kind that had me sleeping in the trunk of my jeep because I had to decide between gas money or books to earn a bachelor degree because I wanted to remind my grandmother her words were far louder than any of the voices of doubt in my head. The kind of patience that keeps me up in the middle of the night writing because even though they don’t pay utility one day a publisher will view my work and it’ll hit the kind of switch that’ll light up enough electricity to power the city. The kind of patience that requires me to grow out this beard without cutting my split ends or getting jealous it catches more crumbs than disposable bibs.

I’d like to imagine it feels like an eternity since your first crush passed you a note in class. I can’t promise to beat him up but I can fill up a scrap book filled with enough things I love about you so can treasure the feeling. Not sure if you ever been taken ice skating but I know an outdoor rink hundreds of people go where you’ll be the center of my attention. Know an art walk in Los Angeles full of masterpieces if I book tickets weeks in advance and a theme park that offer’s amateur batting cages at a ball park price if you wanna swing for the fences. Things are being loved while people are being used. Offering a rich perspective to the miseducation of materialism. I’m willing to go on a scavenger hunt to help you find all the feelings you’ve been neglected of.

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4 thoughts on “You can’t buy sunflowers with food stamps.

  1. I may regret this, but this is my favorite piece thus far. Knowing you, you’ll write something new that will make me say “this is my favorite piece thus far” a hundred times over.

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