What is in a name?
An identifier. Christine. Paul. Bernard.
A sense of uniqueness. Foxy. The Rock. Buddy.
A personality. John. Chad. Karen.
A name is something to hold onto.

What is my name?
A label to keep me concrete when people forget
A phrase to pull me back down when I drift
An identity so that I don't mold into everyone else
My name keeps me together

But what does my name sound like?
I forgot where I placed my strengths
I forgot the way it was shaped to my body
My person slips away from the letters as they form into your mouth
and get lost in the bottomless sea of identifiers

Who am I?
Billboards and signs that paint "fragile" across a face like mine
Small, petite, figures that whisper "prey" and warn me of the big bad wolves
Unfamiliar faces that tell me that I am "too much" as my bones grind against them and their hands try to cup me smaller
there is nothing to keep me from vanishing

Who am I?
Worker # 187, making a dime as they make a dollar?
A father's daughter, a person to be handed and never to stand on it's own?
Am I my weakest moments?
Am I my triumphs?

Who am I?
My own mocking voice screaming, giggling, obscenities before I catch myself
My own motherly tone re-directing me from the bad roots in my childhood
I am this thing and then I am another
We are so inconsistent, as people

We forget to keep our names close to our hearts
To choose our own identities,
let ourselves remind each other that we are
who we choose to be.

My name, it echoes against the cages of my body
and it wraps around me
reassuring me, reminding me, piecing me back together
breathing life back into me.

toss away the memory of me in a disheveled mess of cleanliness—

like a lost treasure, bury me in your bedside drawer.

No one will know that I once stood here
Lets be clear...

I was never at home with you.

So when you feel frantic and lost and you’re searching for the things that help you disassociate, instead of finding that thing or two, you’ll find me, staring back at you.

i pull my eyeball out of my socket
or perhaps,
i remove my socket from my eyeball
the moon is howling
the wind is shining
i grin a grin of blood and ... joy?
eyeball in hand,
or was it the socket?
maybe it's the hand in my eyeball
either way
i take a step towards the water
i feel it lapping at my ankles
i lie down face first
the water breathes me in and
we float
in that uterine comfort we once knew
when I open my eye/socket/hand
i see that i am in a tank
the light refracts across the water
gliding
i worm my way to the base of the tank and i
                                                                                          push
my body is too heavy
i reach between my legs
and
pull out my guts
they slither away into the dark abyss
i close my eye/socket/hand
i sleep

I cant muster the energy to look
At myself in the mirror
But people still expect me
To lift my feet
To lift my head
And
Smile

I wont wash a dish,
I certainly dont look at the clothes,
I cancel my plans last minute when I should have just said no,
I think my friends are conspiring against me,
And I cant leave my husband alone, what if he finds someone else better equip for our home.

I cant muster the energy to look at myself in the mirror,
But I still get up,
I still get up and go to work,
I am just waiting for the time
Time to pass me by

I'm running out of energy for these cycles
Im running out of energy waiting on my energy
I am in deep water, with crashing waves
Everytime I stand
I am knocked back down
Gulping for air
Only getting more water
Waiting to tumble back to the surface

I cant muster the energy to look at myself in the ******* mirror.

Silence.

Envelopes me as I
drift off
into

Disassociation.

Dysmorphic

Whenever I see the word “noon”
I sit and I stare at it.
Logically, I know that it’s spelt right,
But the perfect palindromous parallel
Just looks wrong.

Sometimes in band, I hear a sound
And it’s just not right.
Logically, I know that it’s fine,
But the slight tremor torturing the technique
Just sounds wrong.

Sometimes I see myself in the mirror
And I don’t recognize me.
Logically, I know the body I see is me,
But the soul inside is suffocatingly stifled,
And I feel wrong.