When I slip over my glass life, Before I could grasp, Thorny bush of hopes, Broken sharp edges, Scratches deeply all over me, The splashed warm blood of dream, Finds way to run on my nerve, To reach to my spirit.
How dare to ask a pen, To run on tip toe, In blank winter of whiteness, Across the cold sheet of paper, Which is wide as limited as your mind, With trust to fingers support, While the fingers are shaking, In heal storm of mad thoughts, Not daring to leave marks.
When in Rome, Do as Romans do, Wear as Romans wear, Eat as Romans eat, Talk as Romans talk, Walk as Romans walk, & don't surprise, If found yourself, Fixed on a cross, Because it deserves well, A mirror at your size, Be fixed so firm, Forever.
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us - don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know!
How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one's name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
By:Emily Dickenson