Nobody

I wrote a poem.

But nobody read it

I wrote down words, made them sentences. They detailed my experience

But nobody has seen it

The joy and expectations laid down in black and white

Nobody comprehends it.

If darkness makes us appreciate light and Silence makes us miss the noise.

If joy is appreciated because we’ve known sadness.

Then does it count if nobody traveled the roads with me.

Trailing along to forge the path with me.

Does my experience count if it was just me?

But then somebody saw it.

somebody read it.

somebody comprehends it and nobody becomes somebody.

Somebody becomes everybody.

It makes no sense for everybody to see it.

Everybody made the path foggy. And my worry deepens.

Maybe nobody should have seen it.

Maybe nobody should comprehend it.

Maybe if I’m the somebody, it will be good enough for everybody.