My Name

The reason I love my name 

Is because I see it as a gift from the people I love.

From the people who love me.

Perhaps I do not feel connected to this existence,

Perhaps my soul live not in the name.

I do not feel connected to the self that others perceive me as,

And my own sense of self is not tethered to their game.

But to me it is not a chain 

that binds me. 

It is embroidered in the towels my grandmother gave me,

It’s written on the birthday wishes that my best friend sent

When we were eleven, twelve.

My name is not me, she's a sister.

I love her, and she loves them, and we love him.

The fourteen year old boy who fell asleep weeping,

The twenty-year old who acknowledged what They were,

and bid kind acknowledgement to Him and Her.

My name is not me, but she is my beloved.

She has cared for me and held me, even

when her love was dearly unwanted.

But we'll move forward, through our life,

for there exists no other who so tightly gripped my hand.

My name is the mask others will see upon me,

But I have never really worn a mask.

I will just live. Exist. And breathe and move on,

expect respect and to love remain open,

For she is not me, but with her I am never alone.

And my name and I will carry on.

And with her gift their life was dyed upon.

So They will walk with ‘her’ in hand,

Because my name is a gift

from people that knew not who I am.