Keep the Receipt

Blue coffee tin on the counter, dented lid, one lamp.
Every slip inside says I was here; that is enough.

(4 bars; no vocal)

Keep the receipt (keep it)
I paid for this day (keep it)
No parade, proof I breathe
I was building me

Blue tin by the sink with the bent-up lid,
Cashier ink fades, but I remember what it did.
Monday bus fare, rain asleep on my coat,
Tuesday light bill with a pencil by the total.
Wednesday five dollars for a paper cup of soup,
Thursday held my temper when the elevator stuck.
Friday shoestring broke halfway down the block,
Still walked to the shift when the clock said stop.
My cousin called late, said, “You straight over there?”
I said, “Give me five,” then I breathed in the stairwell air.
I learned peace has a sound when the hallway quits,
Like a refrigerator hum and the click of the switch.
I do not need gold if the cupboard got rice,
If I wake without fear, then the price was right.
Every number in the tin is a date with my name,
Not a chain on my ankle, just a map through the rain.

Pull the drums back, let the room go still.
I hear my own breath by the window sill.
If tomorrow comes heavy, I already know:
I carry the proof that I would not fold.

Keep the receipt (keep it)
I paid for this day (keep it)
No parade, proof I breathe
I was building me

Landlord’s note slid under the door at noon,
Red stamp in the corner, bad news dressed too soon.
I put water in the kettle, watched the steam make clouds,
Counted loose change slow while the neighbors got loud.
Then the old lady downstairs said, “Baby, take your time,”
Handed me a spare roll, said the weather will turn fine.
I used to chase big talk, cars with a blacked-out frame,
Now I chase an honest sleep and a bill with my name.
I used to measure strength by the noise in the room,
Now I measure it by leaving when the trouble starts to bloom.
There is a bus pass folded behind the gas-station slip,
A small brown coffee ring where the whole cup tipped.
I did not turn around when the old crew waved,
I took the long route home and protected what I saved.
If I look calm now, it was not handed free,
Every little mark says the pressure met me.

(Drums out; dry voice alone)
Do not call it luck when you only saw the sunrise.
You did not see the night shift, the bus stop, the sore eyes.
You did not see me count change in the kitchen light.
I kept every small proof so I would trust my life.

One breath. One step. One door. One key.
One hand on the table, one hand on me.
Hold that silence; let the floorboards speak.
Then bring it back—

Keep the receipt (hold it high)
I paid for this day (hold it high)
No parade, proof I breathe
I was building me

Blue coffee tin, one lamp, morning still on the glass.
Not every victory needs a stage to last.
Keep the receipt (keep it); tomorrow gets a page.