I wouldn’t buy a yacht,
or a ticket to the moon.
I’d buy back time…
for the mother working too many jobs,
for the elder choosing between rent and pills,
for the dreamer told survival was enough.

I’d build a trust called love.
No spotlights, no selfies, no strings.
Just people helping people,
because they can,
because they should.

I’d fund the healers who already know
how to stitch broken systems with care.
The ones who show up
without applause,
handing out hope like bread.

I’d rebuild the bridges
we keep tearing down.
Between hunger and plenty,
between the haves and the have-nots,
between the stories we tell
and the truths we hide.

If I had a billion dollars,
I wouldn’t change the world.
I’d trust it.
Give it back to the hands
that still remember
how to hold it gently.

I’d build a bridge.
A place where no one has to beg
for bread, or breath, or mercy.

I’d buy back dignity.
Not for profit, but for peace.
No ads, no ego, no brand.
Just the sound of stomachs quieting,
and the hum of light staying on
in a home that almost went dark.

Because wealth without compassion
is just another wall.
And we were never meant
to build those.