In a room full of people,
I look around me.
These people are silent,
& They cannot see.

Their mouths are sown shut,
to keep them for talking.
About the secrets they hear,
& The people they’re stalking.

Besides being blind,
& having no voice.
They have no identity,
& it’s not by choice.

These people I see,
aren’t people at all.
They’re soulless creatures,
with no remorse to recall.

They have no ears,
but just holes in their heads.
They cannot sleep,
only lie awake in their beds.

This story is creepy,
this story is stern.
It’s not of real people,
don’t let the truth burn.

They call themselves nobodies,
because they have no ID.
Their people but not people,
their actual nobodies, you see.

Don’t let this scare you,
Or put you into a fright.
Just know your somebody,
when you lay down tonight.

Next time you think,
You aren’t somebody.
Just remember this poem,
& remember the nobodies.