Poem: Nobody (2 versions)

hide_in_a_corner_by_yaraklaproos-d2yd4vv

This poem is a bit psychotic and probably sounds suicidal. While written during my second semester of college, it really channels the depression and isolation I felt in 6th grade (If you haven’t heard that post, you can see it here.)

I only went so far as to pick scabs in the way of self-harm. In no way am I condoning or encouraging self-mutilation. But to a degree I can understand what leads a person to that point. When you’ve been bullied physically, verbally and/or emotionally, you can feel powerless and that maybe if you’re the one causing pain, you can gain back some control. But you’re only sinking deeper into a dark place.

I’m not sharing this poem to glorify anything but to illustrate the emotion of this time in my life. If you or someone you know is suicidal or may be at risk of committing self-harm, please seek professional help to work through the problems. Help is available. Talk to trusted adults.

And if someone comes to you and shares about their problems, LISTEN! Listen and take them seriously. And seek intervention.


I like cement.
The black tar,
Slippery puddles.
Actually, I like any hard surface
Where skin can break.
I welcome scraped knees and elbows.
Peeling the scabs bring power.
I can see myself die
If only temporarily.
Nobody cares if I use Band-aids
Or if I bleed.

Some resources that are available:


This was one of those rare poems where I actually went back and edited. Normally my poetry writing is very in the moment, revising and poring over word choice while inspiration is fresh and alive.

A year after the initial installment, I wrote another poem and I somehow got the idea it would be a better opening. So I combined them. This revised version of “Nobody” feels more complete with a bit more context for the darkness.


It’s in the single drop of moisture on a blade of grass.
The way the sky becomes a swirl of color.
In the creases of skin when a smile blossoms.
It’s captured in the nonconformity of the clouds — endlessly changing, shifting —
A spy in progress.

Beauty never ceases. It bounces off every edge of space
Yet whatever I do isn’t enough. My smile
Lacks sparkle, it’s dull. My clothes aren’t modeled on runways.
I’m not going to win an Emmy for my humor or my skills as a playwright.
I’m just one person.
No, a student.
One poet.
One wandering being
Trying to find my way.
Seeing the world and relaying honest interpretations.
What more is there to do?
Drown myself in cologne and scents that fade with time?

Will memory of me fade with time?

I like cement.
The black tar,
Slippery puddles.
Actually, I like any hard surface
Where skin can break.
I welcome scraped knees and elbows.
Peeling the scabs bring power.
I can see myself die
If only temporarily.
Nobody cares if I use Band-aids
Or if I bleed.

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