Dollar Bill Ballot Box
- Roxanne Byrne
- Apr 22, 2020
- 3 min read
Updated: Sep 13, 2020

I used to keep a pocket full of bills,
One, explaining that free speech was a right so sacred it could kill Another, saying that we have the freedom to press, again, and in that pressing we assemble the results of our oppressing, and from there I petition a list of grievances upon the bill that I feel is most represented on capitol hill
With this sword of ink, I write to you in the hopes that you might think
That the bills we write on aren’t as white, as the dollar bills that we dream of at night
That the box that we are most likely to fill are the prison cells and schoolhouse hells
For which a ballot box isn’t in sight, and it doesn’t seem right
That we are checking our votes on our dollar bills
Money, the real democracy we count until our bodies are ill
And we can’t spare a second still
To think about the people without a vote, except with a special kind of bank administered note
The dollar bill, a tapestry we can’t steal
Yet the bonds we form aren’t real
And we can’t spare a second still
Using the tissues of other nations to mold our newborn creation
Upon this great nation
For which it stands
Indivisible
Unless it’s weighed on green strands
When we rise up we’ll demand our rights be honored with every single bill
Our representatives are here to serve the people’s will
We fight until our voices are shrill
And he can’t spare a second still
And he can’t spare a second still
Yet, he can spare a second bill
Because his time is something that he steals
Your time is something he wills
To take your time is one of his thrills
Knowing that it threatens everything you hold dear
He thrives on your fear…
Shaking our hands are stained with green
Weaving these strands while we squeeze every grain of sand
And we can’t spare a second still
And we can’t spare a second strength of will
Because our time is what we sell for real
Our time is not just a second standing still
Our stomachs fill with rage, our money keeps us in a cage
And we can’t spare a second still
Because our votes hang onto our bank administered notes
And our time is what we buy
And when we look toward capitol hill Upon the eyes that demonize us
We stop for a second, and wonder…
And everything becomes clear.
We are more than divided
We are turned into quadrants of productivity
We are rewarded for pulling each other under
Because we don’t have time to waste
And we want to waste it with the ones we love
If we could only just taste it.
Then we hear the ticking of this two-dimensional landscape
For which we are flattened stick figures walking off the edge of the paper
Just to earn another paper to create a bridge to the next moment
The next can of food, the next shock of electricity, a roof to borrow,
The next moment of fresh air
And we finally breathe in… and in that moment, we have never felt so alive
And then we turn to the fire inside
Where time stands still.
This unshakeable landscape where we exist in this moment.
If we could only seize it.
Our passion is real.
Our fire will burn the sacred bill that encourages our nation to kill
Each second rests on every single window sill
Watching the days flipping
Our time is slipping
By the day we’ll be gripping
But the clock keeps on ticking
And we can’t spare a second, still.
© Copyright 2013 Roxanne Byrne. All rights reserved.
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