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 world easier to stand.

And if that leaves me alone,

so be it.

Steel doesn’t beg to be held.

It waits.

And when it cuts,

it’s honest.