A poem called: Nobody, Quietly
Nobody, Quietly I’m a nobody moving through a world that keeps mistaking noise for proof of life. Everyone’s shouting their names into rooms full of mirrors, begging for an echo and calling it connection. I used to think I was late. Behind. Missing something everyone else learned early. But the truth is quieter than that. I watched people trade honesty for comfort. Depth for speed. Presence for performance. I watched them touch each other without ever arriving. And somewhere in that watching, I stepped out of line. Not dramatic. Not brave. Just… still. I didn’t become less. I became exact. I stopped pretending wanting was enough. Stopped pretending closeness happens by accident. Stopped mistaking attention for care. Now I feel everything slower. Heavier. Cleaner. Loneliness doesn’t scream here. It hums. It sharpens you. Strips you down until there’s nothing left that doesn’t belong. So yes— I’m a nobody. Not erased. Not invisible. Just unwilling to lie to myself to make the...