Nobody knows the real me, not my family, not my friends, nobody. But in this strange reality the nobody that I thought was nobody, is actually somebody, just somebody in which I do not know; for when it comes down to it somebody out there in this inhuman world knows me; not me as a person, but me as a soul, they know my feelings. They feel the same way I do about same things I do; they try to hide something that they hope nobody expects behind an upside down frown and a protective chuckle, because they know nobody would accept them otherwise. Nobody and I live a life full of lies and then we lay awake at night and cry about how nothing is right and the mistakes that we made have put our futures at stake. And we remember that we are nobody.

Although life is never fair I feel that I do much more than my share and deserve to be cut a few breaks. Do you consider it fair that nobody and I have to live in the prospects of our parents’ mistakes and misfortunes? But that seems to be the flaw, with America, and the world, the opportunities that are sent your way appear based on good looks and social status, not once have I ever filled out a survey based purely on personality. But it’s okay right? I’m nobody.


As the years go on and our defenses lower, we begin to believe our lies, only prolonging the inevitable awakening in a queer reality where our eyes begin to see our crystal lies as nothing more. But the popularity doesn’t want us, it wants our downfall. And just as we rose we fall for popularity wants us to suffer in the way that the blacks suffered the whites and the women suffered the men; just as fast as it accepts us it will pick us up in its serpent like tentacles and pummel us to a fine powder of a soul labeled “nobody” for in the end we all are the same. We all are nobody.