I Wrote This Instead of Screaming

I know the headlines by heart—
doom in bold, blood in italics.
The oceans are rising,
the rights are receding,
and the scroll is endless.

They say it’s selfish
to want a quiet life
while the world is burning.
But I’m done performing grief,
done screaming my lungs raw
for a system rigged
before I could read.

Tired of giving names
to every kind of broken.

But still, I wake up.
I water the plants.
I text my sister.
I let the cat knead his claws
into my thighs
and call that prayer.

Maybe I’m naïve,
but I think survival is sacred.
I believe
that choosing to stay soft
is its own form of resistance.

They say we’re living through
the end of the world.
But maybe it’s
the end of theirs.

And maybe what comes next
is something worth building.