Foreword
The leading cause of death for people my age is suicide, and the most common reason behind it is cyberbullying. What makes this so tragic is that it’s entirely preventable, yet it’s happening more and more often. Technology, which once promised to connect us, is now revealing its darker side.
We don’t live in the late 90s or early 2000s anymore, when the internet felt like a safe haven for outcasts—a place where people understood each other’s pain and coexisted in peace. Now, the internet has become a playground for corporate greed, government control, and growing hatred in society.
The real heroes of our time won’t be found on battlefields, in rocket ships, or among the wealthy elite. The true hero will be the one who ends the cycle of pain by dismantling the toxic parts of the internet. The internet has become the heart of our dystopian reality, even though most people still don’t see it.
We once had something wonderful—a space for connection and understanding—but it was destroyed by hatred, by the pain people caused each other, and by the countless lives lost in the struggle for something everyone deserves: a good life.
Poem: Behind the screen
People throw words
like knives in the night—
hidden faces,
no name in sight.
Screens glow cold
while laughter rings,
not seeing the damage
a cruel word brings.
You don’t see me,
but you throw your hate,
safe in the shadows
where you can’t relate.
You don’t hear me cry
when the day is done—
just another target,
just another one.
What if one day
the mask slipped down,
and every message
had to wear a crown—
of truth, of face,
of real regret?
Would you still send
that same old threat?
I read your words
and feel them burn,
wonder if
they’ll ever learn.
Some nights I wonder
if it’s worth the fight—
the pain you send
stays through the night.
You think you’re safe
behind your screen,
but your words can kill—
they’re sharp, unseen.
So many lost
to silent cries,
because of lies
and last goodbyes.
If you could see
the scars you make,
would you stop
for someone’s sake?
Or would you hide,
still out of view,
pretending what you say
could never be true?

I’m an early teen poet. I’m mute, autistic, and adopted. I love metal music and I’m a Christian. I survived foster care. Born voiceless, not wordless.
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