March 30, 2012
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Have we done this again?
Have we played the same game?
Are you proud of me?
What is my name?

If I told someone,
They would not see:
The bruises on my arms,
The scars on my skin,
My eyes that are tinted olive and violet,

They notice the outside of me

Spin me through the sky
Tempt me with the clouds.
Why can’t I reach them?
Why are you pulling me down?

Am I you?
What are these stains on my lashes?
What is my name?

If I admitted to the other side of the world,
The sun could still not warm:
The dried blood on my fingertips,
The bruises still grasping my throat
The scratches lining the tear tracks
--the daylight cannot warm what is concealed in February snow

Stone me with your curses,
Conjure your lies with your hawthorn wand.
I am flat in the corner
With reality snapping her jaws to my core.

What is my name?

Do you know the answer?

What is my name?

If I were to confess to my own person,
The world would still tumble
The hexes would still fly
The slaps would still unfurl

But maybe,

I could only—
The stars and the clouds,
To quench my dry thirst
Against your grasp
Still yanking me


And I would softly whisper,

What is my name?

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