staining my lips.

i hold my tongue
and drink my bitter tea,
staining my lips,
like a memory.
and sewn shut
are all of those times,
when i needed more,
than a poor man's dime.

(more than just an offering
more than a feather off of
a bird's back,
more than what you're givin' me.
more than i do expect.)

push my lips together
clench my teeth, must
grind grind grind them
down to asphalt and dust,
cage my tears and hide
my hiccups and fears behind:
"i'm fine"s and "i don't mind"s.
and now,
i'm not sure i know any other words
(well at least none that you listen to.)