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Best Poems Written by Arno Niem

Below are the all-time best Arno Niem poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Arno Niem Poem

Echoes in the Locker Room

They never saw me—not really.
Only the outline I traced in the halls,
A whisper of denim and shy glances,
A ghost who smiled too politely.

They passed notes like grenades,
Laughed too loudly
When the silence was breaking me.
I wore their words like a second skin—
Tight, blistering,
But invisible to them.

You asked if I was okay once—
But your eyes flicked away
Before the truth had a chance to crawl out.
Still,
That was kind,
Compared to the others
Who carved their stories into my name
Without ever asking for mine.

I screamed,
But only inside,
Where echoes get lost
In the ribcage's corners.

And when I disappeared,
They asked,
“Why didn’t she say something?”
As if silence isn’t something we’re taught
By the ones who pretend
They’re listening.

Details | Arno Niem Poem

Boys Don’t Break -But I Did-

They say boys don’t cry.
They say it like a promise.
Like strength is stitched in our skin at birth
and weakness is something
you have to unzip your chest to find.

I was eight
when I learned that sadness had a gender.
That girls get tissues,
and boys get told to “tough it out.”

That scraped knees get band-aids,
but broken hearts?
Those just get buried under
“man up”
and “you’ll be fine.”

I was twelve
when my dad said,
“Stop acting like a girl.”
Like emotions were diseases
and I’d caught one.

So I stopped.
Stopped crying.
Stopped talking.
Stopped needing anything
that made me look soft.
Because being soft
felt like being disposable.

And you wonder why boys break things
before they break down?
Why fists meet walls before feelings meet words?

We are taught to bottle it up—
but no one tells you what happens
when the pressure hits the glass ceiling of your skull.

I walk hallways with a smile that’s a lie.
Teachers don’t ask.
Friends don’t see.
And the counselor?
Too busy with the loud kids,
the girls who cry pretty in bathrooms.
My silence doesn’t make a scene.
It just echoes.

Some nights I scream
into pillows
so I don’t have to apologize
for having a voice.

But no one sees bruises
when they’re on the inside.
No one asks
if you're okay
when your mask fits perfectly.

And I want to tell you—
depression wears cologne too.
Anxiety knows how to laugh at jokes.
Panic attacks can come
after touchdowns and straight A’s.

I want to scream:
Check on your boys.
Check on the ones who always say, “I’m good.”
Check on the ones whose humor hits too hard,
too fast,
like they’re trying to dodge their own thoughts.

Because we are drowning
in plain sight.

We are falling
but our hands look like fists,
so no one thinks to catch us.

We are breaking
in ways that look like silence.

And silence
doesn’t make noise
until it’s too late.

Details | Arno Niem Poem

Echoes in the quiet

They say the world is full of voices,
But mine gets lost among the sound.
A whisper drowned by louder choices,
A silence no one seems to hound.

I walked through halls of hollow laughter,
Their eyes slid past like I was air.
I smiled, and moments later, after,
They left—and I was still not there.

My name, a note they never mention,
My thoughts, a sea they’ll never sail.
They see a mask, not the dimension
Of hearts that hurt but never wail.

I used to scream into the night,
But shadows never do reply.
Now I just breathe—too tired to fight—
And learn to live, not asking why.

Details | Arno Niem Poem

Thirteen Tapes

A voice recorded, soft but clear,
Echoes pain we failed to hear.
Hannah spoke from shadows deep,
Of secrets buried none should keep.

A hallway's whisper, locker stares,
Unseen wounds and empty chairs.
A photo passed, a cruel slight,
Each reason dimmed another light.

Justin's love turned into blame,
Jessica’s tears, the haunting shame.
Bryce’s smirk, a predator’s grin,
The silence loud—it let him win.

Clay rewinds but can't undo,
The paths they crossed, the truths they knew.
Mr. Porter, blind and slow,
Let chances slip and let her go.

Zach took notes but not her cries,
While Tyler's lens revealed the lies.
Alex sank beneath the weight,
Of guilt, too heavy and too late.

Thirteen stories, thirteen names,
A map of hurt, a trail of flames.
In every voice, a fractured plea:
“Would someone have stood up for me?”

Details | Arno Niem Poem

The Weight of Silence

In the darkness, a voice cries out,
a shattering scream in the midnight hour.
Trust turned to ash, shattered and raw,
beneath the weight of an unwanted power.

Hands that should heal become claws that tear,
and silence grows louder in the air.
A soul splintered, seeking the dawn—
to rise again, though battered and worn.

Details | Arno Niem Poem

Hollow Frame

A boy walks slow through halls of glass,
His shadow flickers, thin as grass.
Each step a secret, each breath a theft,
Of hunger’s war and weightless heft.

They whisper when they think he’s gone,
“Is he okay? He looks withdrawn.”
But laughter fades when backs are turned,
And eyes like his are never learned.

His plate remains a battlefield—
Each bite a blade, each meal unsealed.
He counts the crumbs like ticking clocks,
His ribs a cage, his soul in locks.

Inside, a storm no one can see,
A gut that groans in mutiny.
IBS, a cruel refrain,
Twisting joy into quiet pain.

His friends? Just echoes in disguise,
With hollow jokes and plastic eyes.
They smile sharp, then look away—
He’s present, but he’s not okay.

They call him “buddy,” slap his back,
Then laugh the moment that he cracks.
Lonely, yet he's never alone,
A ghost among his flesh and bone.

He’s drained—of hope, of strength, of care,
A paper boy in poisoned air.
Yet no one sees what’s underneath,
The brittle scream behind his teeth.

And so he walks, a whispered name,
Fading into his hollow frame.
Each day a mask, each night a sea,
Of pain no soul will ever see.