arno niem Poet Rhyme

The Boy They Never Saw

He counted crumbs like guilty prayers,
bones beneath his skin like snares.
His stomach twisted, night and day,
but all he ever said was “I’m okay.”

In crowded halls he walked alone,
his silence louder than a phone.
A smile he painted, thin and weak,
his voice a whisper he couldn’t speak.

He hid his heart in shades of gray,
afraid of what the world would say.
A boy who loved but couldn’t tell,
trapped inside his private hell.

He dreamt of friends, of someone near,
but walls grew thicker year by year.
IBS burned, his body frail,
an unseen war he could not hail.

At night he stared at ceilings high,
and wondered softly if he’d die.
He wrote in notebooks, line by line,
“I’m still a person. Please see my sign.”

But no one came, no voices called,
his messages like leaves that fall.
The weight he carried, sharp and deep,
grew heavier each time he’d sleep.

One evening, shadows filled his room,
his heart beat slow with growing gloom.
A note half-written, ink still wet,
words of pain and deep regret.

Then—silence. Curtains drawn.
A life, a boy, forever gone.
No one saw the final part,
they only found his note, his heart.

And now his name is spoken low,
an empty desk, a face they know.
A story told so others learn:
see the signs before they burn.

Don’t let another fade away,
reach for them before that day.
A boy is more than pain or shame,
a life is more than just a name.

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