You lose your name
in a language that gives
your name vowels like
curdled milk.

You lose your name 
after hearing
all the variations
that are not your name.

You lose your name
in the eyes of new teachers
or substitutes, in that moment
they cringe when they 
see your name at 
the top of the list.

You lose your name
when you meet new people 
and your heart falls because
you don't even care to 
explain to them how to say it
anymore.

You lose your name
when everybody calls you 
by the other name, the wrong
name, that haunts you all
day long, lurking even in
the shadows until you want to shout:
That's not my name!
 
You lose your name
when your friends 
correct the substitutes because
you don't even care enough 
to correct them
anymore.

You lose your name
after you start to introduce yourself
with their name for you,
the wrong one.

You lose your name
when you start calling yourself
by the wrong name.

You lose your name.

And when you say
your real name 
on stage,
you will feel 
a moment of pride,

but then you will
start to tear up
as you feel a part 
of your heart start
to chip off because
even though that 
other name was wrong,
it was still your name.

And you lose your name.
Again and
Again and
Again and
Again.

Because when people
like me come
to this country,
we always lose our names.