You told us to hustle.
To grind.
To pick ourselves up and work harder.

So we did.
We clocked in early.
Stayed late.
Juggled side gigs and childcare and commutes
just to fill the fridge.

But the price of bread went up again.
And milk.
And eggs.
And suddenly $100 buys half a cart
and a stomach full of shame.

Now we’re skipping meals
so the kids don’t notice.
Pretending we’re “not hungry”
so they don’t feel it.

And while we ration dinner,
billionaires throw galas
to argue over who gets the bigger yacht.

We’re not asking for luxury.
We’re asking for enough.
Enough to feed our families
without having to choose between lights and lunch.

But you don’t hear that.
You’re too busy lecturing.
Calling it poor budgeting.
Calling it laziness.
Calling it our fault.

You’ve never stared down a grocery total
and prayed it wouldn’t decline.
You’ve never watered down soup
or eaten toast so your kid could have the last banana.

You say inflation like it’s weather.
Like it just happened.
Like you didn’t rig the game
and raise the stakes.

We’re not broken.
We’re just tired of starving
while you measure success in jets and stock climbs.