I won't be Defined by One

I

My first name, Isabella, means

God is my oath.

This meaning makes me feel

like a dulled pencil

with the raging, wild light

knocked out of it

through the black and white

nighttime sky.

Although it reminds me of 

a watery blue color

with a drop of enhanced purple, 

like the color that is seen

just after the red glass sun

has gone down 

upon the translucent stream

as the light reflects

off the lilac flowers

that droop over the banks of the 

narrow brook.

II

My name. 

Sounds like a lightbulb shattering,

on the marble floor

with the light ever so slowly dying out

upon the bland and boring shell

that sits besides it. 

III

It feels like 

an old, moldy piece of cheese dug

out from a metallic trash can. 

IV

It smells like

foggy, rich smoke

that rises from

the lively campfire 

in the outcasting, neon green,

           lush meadows of Montana. 

V

I have always.

Felt that it cements me 

to my family, because

My family likes it.

But over the past year.

I have. 

Not enjoyed. 

That nagging feeling. 

VI

I would rename myself

to Tumble. 

I would name myself this because.

I have always. 

For the longest time,

I wanted a name that.

Doesn't put a label upon me

because of my name. 

VII

And it's a name.

That skips across the spotless, seamless, waterfall

and elegantly rushing through the electrifying trumpet

playing miles, upon miles away

on top of a rambunctious phoenix,

that soars through the charcoal, painted sky

lit up by the raining, red rain drops,

with a touch of gold running through them,

as if they were small candles emerging    

in the chocolate covered nighttime sky.

VIII

I won't.

Not then.

Not now.

Not later.

Be defined by

one.