SOMEBODY

SOMEBODY! Are you?
I dread to think of and I really don’t like the word itself.
But the worst and the unbearable part is that others call and think of you so.
When they deny you your choice and voice, and as you bravely speak out you just feel to be inside a vacuum. You waste your anger while nothing can be heard.
“You are somebody, aren’t you?” She required. They have a boundary to classify you as insider or an alien. By this question, she intends to make sure you are an alien, a weird creature whom they can overtly renounce. She is not alone in this fishing; for instance, there is a he whom you have long trusted, but comes inside the room with a face adorned with a smirk and wants to buy personality at your expense. “I can’t see you,” he bursts into laughter, which merely means you are nobody.
They both consider themselves as somebody and are proud of that, but what makes somebody?
All in all, let’s whisper: I am nobody, and I beg of you not to tell them because they’d banish me, banish me to my room, to my notebook.
Being somebody is as useless and commonplace as a name. They are proud of their names; however, they could have had other names with no different consequences. And it is just an agreeable façade and fallacy. Deep inside if exists such a thing everything Is Different.