Currency of Being Seen
No!
Nobody forgets you.
They just remember themselves more.
It’s not hate,
not truly.
It’s the noise of their lives
that drowns out the quiet of yours.
They don’t sit around
thinking of you.
Not because you don’t matter,
but because their minds
are crowded with unpaid bills,
unfinished dreams,
and mirrors that lie to them, too.
Nobody misses a poor person.
Not out loud.
Not where it counts.
Because poverty makes you invisible
like a whisper
in a world addicted to shouts.
But hear this:
You are not alone.
Not really.
Your loneliness
is the echo of expectations unmet.
It is artificial
a shadow cast
by a world that only lights up
for wealth.
You are not as dull
as you’ve been told.
That ache you carry
is proof of depth,
not emptiness.
Your “ugliness” is a feeling,
not a fact.
Look again
you’re younger than the weight on your face,
lighter than the sorrow you wear.
You are not boring.
You are simply uncelebrated.
Your words
they carry the scent of wisdom,
even if they’ve fallen
on deaf ears
too full of pride to listen.
But try this:
Make money.
Watch the roots of your family tree
wrap around strangers
suddenly calling you "brother."
Old classmates will remember your birthday.
Distant cousins will find their way back
into your inbox.
Everyone will know you.
Everyone.
Be richer than them,
and feel the thunder
of their applause.
The same face they once ignored
will become the cover
of their admiration.
You’ll hear it
the gasp:
“You’ve always been so brilliant.”
“You were always destined for greatness.”
They will say
your voice heals.
That your words
opened doors.
That your presence
is peace itself.
Such is life, brother.
Do not curse them
they are not cruel by design,
only by habit.
Even God
didn’t wire the world to spin this way.
You are not unloved.
Just unpaid.
You are not too strange
just unfamiliar with a currency they recognize.
Stack your wealth,
and watch the world spin differently.
Watch how suddenly
your sins become “lessons.”
How your flaws
become “flavour.”
And your silence
becomes power.
Because the world,
as it stands,
respects only echoes
that bounces off gold.
And still
beneath the noise,
you are already enough.
But wealth will teach them
to see it, too.
Copyright © Victor Ernest Osong | Year Posted 2025
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment