Burn my money

Heart racing, feeling uneasy, not sure what to do. I ask my mom, "help"? 

Shes give me a blue look and says, " No not this time". So at the golden age of 20, I walked into the glass building that holds my money. With questions of, "why my account is in red".?With mommy not holding my hand I walked into the glass door. As the redhead lady spoke to me across the desk clear and boldly. My heart began to set at ease, my eyes were more clear and I realize that paper green cannot be spent with all ease. Walking out the tall building I realize that the little girl way of handling money was not going to work. I have to handle money the way it is meant to be handled carefully not foolishly and that can only be done by me.

This poem is about: 
Me

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