A Currency We Haven’t Learned to Spend

I wake up in a world that’s always moving,

a second away from breaking.
I scroll through the noise,

and I wonder what happens when the screen goes dark.

I’m told we’re the ones who will fix this,

but no one taught us how to stitch together a world

that feels more fragile with every passing hour.

They tell us we’re the change,

but what does it mean to change a world

when change itself has become a currency?

A currency they say we’re too young to understand,

too young to grasp the weight of what’s slipping away,

but it’s still 

our 

responsibility.

Ask me what keeps me up at night,

and I’ll say it’s the same thing

that wakes me up in the morning—

a thousand small battles,

waged between who I am

and who I’m expected to be,

the constant fight for space,

and the fear that my rights

are the next to slip away.

I don’t hope for everything to be perfect,
just for something to make sense.
For the noise to die down long enough
for someone to hear us,
before the fire consumes us all.

 

I’m a teenager in 2025,

but I am not a statistic.
I’m not a headline,
or a problem to solve. 

The world’s weight presses on my chest,

but I will keep learning how to breathe

under the weight of a future

that doesn’t seem to want me to exist.