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.
- Nightheart's blog
- Sprout
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Saia_Patel
May 15, 2018
Wow....This was really puissant. I loved that you took a new approach on the trials and tribulations of coming to America. I hadn't really thought about immigrants losing their names, and some part of themselves. Thanks for the new perspective, Nightheart!
poetry is eternal graffiti written in the heart of everyone
- lawrence ferlinghetti