If I could change the world,

I wouldn’t start with the big stuff.

Not money, not power, not who sits at the top.

I’d start with the kid in the back of the classroom,

the one who never raises their hand

because somewhere along the way,

they stopped believing their voice mattered.

I’d start with the man on the street corner,

his hands rough, his eyes tired,

holding a cardboard sign

that most people pretend not to see.

I’d give him more than just a dollar.

I’d give him dignity.

I’d change the way people walk past each other,

eyes down, earbuds in,

like we’re all just ghosts in our own little worlds.

I’d make people look up,

see each other, really see.

I’d change the way “I love you”

gets stuck in people’s throats,

how apologies come too late,

how hugs feel like goodbyes

instead of I’ll see you soon.

But change isn’t some grand explosion.

It’s not a speech or a protest or a law.

It’s loose change in your pocket—

small, scattered, barely noticed.

But if enough of us gather it,

if enough of us care,

one day we’ll have enough

to make the world different.

And maybe it starts here.

With me.

With you.