Childhood, Growing Up, People, Poetry, Writing, Youth

Don’t Notice

Don’t Notice

Anxiety and Nervousness

Palms deep in my pockets

Head hung low, eyes downcast

Reddish bangs cover blue eyes


No, don’t look at me, please.

Need to make it through

Halls filled with kids like me

But they don’t see me like them.

Please, just keep ignoring me.


Don’t notice, no, don’t look.

Largely built athlete sees me

Clenching my jaw tight

As he speaks, or rather

It’s more of a grunt

The sound of disgust.


Don’t look into his eyes

Keep looking at the floor.

It’s white and has lines in it.

The black skid marks from sneakers.


The door to the “nerd’s” library opens

I fail to see it sling open

My arms screams in pain when it hits me.

Getting a closer look at the floor

I see the black marks.


“Fuck” I say inside my own mind

Another kid picks up my books

Outstretches his hand and helps me up.

Taking my books, I just nod my thanks.

Only first period and a long way to go.


Please, just don’t notice me.

It’s better that way.


I wrote this poem from a memory. I wasn’t exactly popular growing up and for some reason this certain morning has stuck with me. Of course, I had to write about it.

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