I walk to calm my mind.
Even in this fake-ass, broken-down, corrupt system.

I was born in a communist country.
Don’t come at me with theories—I lived that shit.

I know what communism, socialism, and capitalism really are.

And I know damn well how cartels, gangs, and government thugs work.

They’re in every system.
Running it.
Destroying people.

Corruption ain’t the exception. It’s the damn engine.

When you’re young, you wanna fix the world.

When you’re old, you finally see:
The world don’t wanna be fixed.
The people in charge don’t want “fair.”
They protect their dirty money, their dirty power, and their dirty games.

You got three choices in this mess:
JOIN ‘EM.
FIGHT ‘EM.
Or STAY THE F*** OUT THE WAY.

I chose the last one.

Why? ‘Cause I’m tired. And smart.
And I’m not selling my soul to fit into their rigged game.

No one cares about you.
Not your family.
Not society.
Not the system.

You’re only human to them when you got money to spend or a number to add to their stats.

Need help?
It’s on their terms.
Need care?
It’s when they say so.
And even then—you gotta beg for what should be yours.

This world?
It ain’t built for humans.
It’s built for profit.

Now let me tell you what hit me today.

She was gorgeous. A Latina. Homeless. Addicted.

Still holding onto something—hope?

Maybe she was still trying.
Maybe she gave up long ago and just kept walking. Like me , like you, like many others!

I saw her again on the bus. High. Disconnected. Floating. Gone.

In any other world, she’d be a queen.

Here? She’s just a “problem.” A statistic. A burden.

The system don’t talk to women like her.

It ignores them.

Because if it saw her, it’d have to admit it failed.

They toss her crumbs—just enough to keep her from dying, not enough to actually live.

And guess what?

The same bastards who denied her help are the ones pushing the dope.
Same hands. Same money. Same evil.

They sell pain.
They buy silence.

And they wash their hands clean with public funds.

Socialism?
Same scam. Different name.
They move dirty money through “government programs,” pocket the profit, and leave people like her to rot.

And me? I’m a nurse. A damn good one.
But I don’t play their dirty game, so they don’t want me.
They don’t want real.
They want silence. They want obedience.

As I sat on that cracked-up bus, smelling weed, meth, and broken dreams, I looked at her and I prayed.

I prayed she makes it.
I prayed she stays alive.
I prayed luck finds her before death does.

And I made myself a promise:
If I ever get the hell outta this country,
I’ll write the truth in a letter so loud it burns through their f***ing desks.

Until then, I’ll keep walking.

Head high. Soul intact.

Even if this world is a mess!

— With love,
Your pissed-off, truth-telling Granny.