The name that you gave me, Like the clothes you chose for me to wear, Is wrapped around me; Sometimes stifling, sometimes loose, Sometimes I hear it, Often, I don’t. I am summoned much more than I will ever introduce myself. Mindlessly I have filled forms, Adapted it into my signature, Transacted and earned money, Spent it, feeling empowered. Is it just an identity? Do they know about me or not? Do I change it or be relieved that it wasn't my call. It feels akin to wearing a raincoat... Sweating within its plastic encasing, almost touching my skin, while it protects me from the wetness around, While the raindrops lightly fall dropping like slivers of time, out of my reach. Do I prepare for the inferno building inside… non-aligned with that title given to my existence, that proof of my person within. It has become a label Of memory, face and voice. That name that you chose, I have grown into it. It has pinned me to a context, And now I am unravelling myself from it, through one rite of passage, to another re-adulting nightmare at a time.
I came for the sketch ... but am leaving in awe of your poem.
you don’t have to introduce yourself now, I see you. I love what you beautiful described here.
And your sketch is effortlessly pretty