My name is…

Wait. Let me start over.

My name is…

Hold on, let me try one more time.

My name is…

I promise, I know the answer to this!

My name is…

My name is…

FORGOTTEN

I didn’t mean to say that

Out loud

It’s not that I didn’t want you to know my name

But the truth is you’ll probably forget it anyway

And that was my rough draft

Life teaches us to edit the truth and avoid controversy

So a lot of the time we say things we don’t really mean

And we shake our heads when we don’t agree

But don’t you dare open your mouth

I tried three times to tell you who I am

Well, the edited version, the proper ma’am

But I just couldn’t shake the truth from my lips

Because even though the world teaches us to edit

Life forced me to tell it as it is

Which is this

My name doesn’t belong to me

Am I to accept a label used by millions

And expect it to appropriately define

Dark beauty, slim frame, heavy soul, untamed

Bruised skin, bright eyes, delicate bones, clear mind

Only sometimes

And my heart bleeds a special shade of blue

To go along with Jamaican blood that’s the glue

Holding my body together, oxygenating my brain

Shaping me so much more than my name

Influencing this talent, a poetic game

Call me poetry

My name may be forgotten, but never my lyric

My fingers are trained to ink out a rhythmic spirit

A word, a mark, a footprint

I am a weaving of time and nature, a making of heritage

Forget my name, remember this legacy

Every poem is a verse of life, rough draft

My autobiography

Photo provided by:
unsplash-logoKelly Sikkema