Growing Up Poor

"We don't have too much money."

Is the whisper at the store,

"What you have is plenty."

Never ask for more.

I eye my friends with envy,

Watching as they feed,

My rations were cut and portioned,

Theirs just came from greed.

"We don't have too much money."

That's just what they said.

"We can't afford their milk and honey."

I only asked for bread.

I hold the food tight in my hand,

Stealing in the dark,

"We don't have too much money."

Theft becomes an art.

I watch my brother gorge himself,

On food that wasn't mine.

"We don't have too much money."

I whisper every time.

I watch him feast so carelessly,

We have money now, it's fine.

But I still tense up when he asks,

Waiting for the line,

"We don't have too much money."

"You're selfish; this is greed."

I hold the single slice of bread,

And whisper that it's need.