My inner thoughts

A pen can only express as much as I allow it, yet what if my thoughts overflow beyond its limits, a yearning hope that someday my words might carry weight. It often feels like I’m just rambling, met with vacant stares, as if my attempts to communicate are lost in the void, with most not even bothering to engage with what I’m trying to convey. I dream of a world where someone could help foster peace and positivity amidst the relentless brutality surrounding us, but I worry we are too far gone. The air is thick with pain and hatred, suffocating in its intensity. When differing opinions arise, they swiftly label you as the enemy, silencing dialogue and fostering division. It’s a disheartening existence we’ve chosen. Even at the tender age of five, I felt the weight of others' suffering, enveloping me. Young voices may rise, yet many still endure hardship, while those with wealth prioritize it above all, rendering the rest insignificant. Perhaps one day this will change, but I remain skeptical.