#names
A name gifted to me,
A question, an inquiry,
Like a medical mystery;
I wore it like a paper bracelet,
Tied tightly to my wrist,
Eyes laid planted firmly on my frame,
The supple, tender and gentle curving of the flesh—
How could I ever forget this sensation?
This overzealous sense of grandeur to please.
This is a pantomime; who could I turn to?
When all they did is gaze below my waistline?
A name handed to me,
A statement, an obscenity,
Like an enigma;
I wore it past my paradoxical face,
Sewn, stitch by stitch,
Into this mask,
I hid this face to keep you from seeing the wrinkle lines fold,
When I frowned, when I smiled,
To cover all these lopsided, cigarette-stained teeth,
But did I really want to?
I’m not sure, nah, I sure ain’t…
A mask given to me; a heirloom pasted downward,
With trembling fingertips as they,
Stare me down and,
Keep looking, keep looking,
I beg of you, I dare you to,
Keep pointing those daggers at me and see what you can’t comprehend—
…I can never seem to win, haha!
Pass another round of gin, pal,
Maybe I’m not all what I’m cracked up to be!
I’m faceless, yet,
you read my visage like an open book,
Past the porcelain…
Perhaps…
It’s not here to hide my physical vulgarities,
this depraved gaudiness of my demeanor;
Open this cover and judge it, why don’t you?
Just try to wrap your head around the hiatus,
the chasm, the gulf of vacant sanctity that is…
me.
Maybe…
Just Maybe.
6d ago
May 28, 2026 at 3:48 PM UTC
Thirty arrives like a quiet room
you didn’t mean to enter.
You look around—
half-built dreams,
names you never became,
time suddenly loud in your hands.
It feels like the ending.
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 4:17 PM UTC
I was given a name like a coat—
stitched before I could speak,
buttons chosen by other hands.
They said, This is yours.
And for a while
I wore it.
But mirrors are curious teachers.
They whisper in quiet rooms:
Are you warm in that fabric?
Does it bend when you move?
Some days I felt like sunlight
spilling through open windows—
not shaped by the frame,
only passing through.
Some days I felt like the ocean,
tides answering to a moon
no one else could see.
So I unbuttoned the old coat.
Not in anger—
but because breathing
was easier without seams.
I walk the world
threading my own coat
through the loom of my life.
And if you ask my name,
I may give you one,
or many,
or simply a smile that says:
I am still becoming
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 9:41 PM UTC
there was something always about the name georgia
it didn't just feel like me
when you all started to call me gia
I felt real
I felt like maybe I was sorta me
I appreciate the name they never called me
while it lasted at least
thank you
Jan 28
Jan 28, 2026 at 10:36 PM UTC
If I wrote a poem about a boy named Xavier,
You’d read about his prehistoric behaviour;
And rhyme dinosaur with omnivore.
But these figuratives don’t reach the core
Of the intrepid, the magical, mysterious, Xavier.
First, let’s be candid about his one shortcoming,
Although he’s Blessed, he’s no Second Coming.
Therefore I’ll pour an alphabet gravy,
Thick with rhymes to cover...
A boy named Xavi.
Xavi’s not achy, antsy or angry, and despite certain claims, he’s not the Almighty.
He’s not beefy or bossy, but brash and brainy; and he’s brave on good days or if things get crazy.
At times he’s classy, not cheeky, but crafty, and oft-times for good reason, Xavi gets crabby.
Xavi’s no dummy, just ask his Mommy, but Aine laughs heartily cause he’s witty and funny.
(The uninformed will pronounce Ex, but there is no E in Xavi.)
He’s not flaky or freaky, flashy or frisky, and though he likes seafood, he doesn’t smell fishy.
Xavi’s not gaudy or gloomy, ghastly or gnarly, and he claims to be Godly, but he’s probably agnostic.
He’s clear minded, not hazy, in a hurry when hasty; he can be huffy and haughty, but none say he’s naughty.
I’ve seen him get icy, iffy, even itchy, but never...most never...could Xavi be icky.
He gets jumpy and jaunty when listening to jazz; but when the Mario’s playing, it’s all razzmatazz.
One wouldn’t say Xavi is kooky or ***** words like kindly and knightly are more to his liking.
He’s a lefty-looney who’s not idle or lazy, but he leaves no doubt he can be a bit dazy.
Mangy doesn’t describe Xavi well, but moody might if you ring his bell.
He’s somewhat nutty, largely nifty and a lot nervy, but I wouldn’t write he’s nasty or nerdy.
Xavi can sing for he’s never off-key; and he plays piano like he’s well-past Grade three.
Xavi’s no phony, he is what you get; and he’s perky and plucky, and pleasantly lucky.
He’s quirky when gobbling and being a turkey; and when he sounds quacky, you might call him duck-wacky.
Xavi’s not randy, but focused and handy, yet rowdy when roaring rambunctiously loudly.
He’s not sappy or scrabby, scaly or shabby; definitely not seedy or scary or shady, or dare I say, smelly.
But he can be touchy and testy, tricky and twitchy, especially when Xavi feels fidgety and prickly.
He’s good looking, not ugly, and certainly not vain; sometimes he’s unruly, but never insane.
Xavi gets verbal when his villainy shows, but avoids being vile when he soars high or dives low.
We hear he gets wordy, and windy, even wonky; and he can whinny when stubborn like an unshakable donkey.
Xavi n’est pas xenophobe parce qu’il aime la geographie.
You see Xavi could be anything he feigns,
Like a young hairy yeti,
Or zany zombie chewing brains.
But of all the ways he presents to me
Xavier is Xavi,
And that’s all I want him to be.
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 11:39 AM UTC
dear emei. mei.
juliet. j. jules.
i do miss you. all the time,
when someone says ren!
and i take a second to realize that's me
and turn around.
Jan 4
Jan 4, 2026 at 11:18 PM UTC
the name emi is pain
the name emi is love
the name emi is the person who left me
broken and alone
the name emi is who protected me
safe and cared for
as much as I like to say I hate emi
I love emi even more
Nov 20, 2025
Nov 20, 2025 at 10:54 AM UTC
Georgia was the mistake I kept answering to,
so I let Gia step in—she already knew herself in ways Georgia never did.
Gia was the name whispered by Emi, by Isla, by Ari,
while Georgia was just the one the world thought they knew.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 5:12 PM UTC
geese above distracting pines,
above the endless communion
of spring to brook to river.
given a holy name
brought by stern men and women
from their distant island homes.
an immigrant's wind blowing
bending the limbs low to touch grasshead,
pulling from the ****** earth
the walls among which they slept.
they built to love, shovel and pick,
brick and mortar and
they that built, named anew an old country.
giving names to capture, change and claim,
and love in their native tongue.
new names married to old,
difficult to spell,
meanings hidden,
musical in their mystery.
baptized in war and glory
mowed low in the fields
a sacred harvest.
the blood of the named
fueling the mystery of the unnamed.
we are nourished by it.
embellishing it with our own weak deeds.
as unpronounceable as the wind,
we become simple guttural vowels
in the living name
of the distracting pines
and conjoined waters.
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 4:04 AM UTC
Hello!
Its great to meet you!
I'm called Immature
But my name is Idiot
But if u don't like that i go by many other things
Such as
Stupid
Fat
Scar face
Band geek
Speech freak
Loser
Weird
Freak eyes
Freak
****
N*gga
sunshine
dog
and others i'm not allowed to say.
Aug 13, 2025
Aug 13, 2025 at 12:08 AM UTC
It's not the older,
but: the younger, the fewer --
namesakes people have.
Aug 10, 2025
Aug 10, 2025 at 2:51 AM UTC
I told others that your name
Is now a taboo; forbidden to be uttered
Because the mere mention of you
Hits me with everything we ever had
Hits me with everything we could have
Hits me to my core that I get stunned
By everything and anything of us
So your name cannot be said by anyone
Unless it is whispered by me
Jul 23, 2025
Jul 23, 2025 at 10:40 AM UTC
Alliteration
of your name
is like
a poem.
It coos and cranes,
it makes me
feel sated
with cheeky bells on.
It makes my soul
feel quenched
when I sing it out
when you don’t show up.
I want to slide down
the lines
of your name
like it’s
a poem.
Give me a Zaza,
not a Zizi;
almost a Zissou,
never a Vossy.
For somebody, those are
the lines of truth,
but yours is a love oath
and the breeze
to me.
And I feel so jazzy!
It takes all of me
to give it away
back to you
for free.
Jun 14, 2025
Jun 14, 2025 at 5:57 AM UTC
You want to know the poet?
You want to know the man?
You can call him Hardison,
He's going for the grand throne,
In that hall of fame.
There's nothing that will halt him,
Till his name's carved in the sky.
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 8:45 PM UTC
I fell in love, a moment lost to time,
Perhaps a memory, a forgotten rhyme.
A sense of knowing, deeper than the day,
A love that lingered, found its rightful way.
You call me Prince, your anchor in the storm,
The one who showed you, a life reborn.
You found your strength, your peace, your solid ground,
In my embrace, your true self you have found.
And I, in turn, with tender words I call,
My Angel bright, who answers to my thrall.
My Dragon Princess, with a spirit free,
My Muse, inspiring all eternity.
My Sweetest Inspiration, you ignite,
A fire within, that burns ever bright.
My Love, my everything, beneath the sky,
More than the stars that twinkle passing by.
You are the sun, that warms my waking hours,
The moon that guides me, through life's shadowed powers.
You paint my world with colors yet unseen,
A vibrant canvas, where our love has been.
Your laughter echoes, a sweet, melodic sound,
Your gentle touch, where solace can be found.
Your eyes hold worlds, a universe untold,
A story written, in hearts brave and bold.
I found my haven, in your loving gaze,
Through trials faced, and sunlit, peaceful days.
My heart beats only, for your gentle grace,
A sacred space, within your warm embrace.
Our journey weaves, a tapestry of fate,
With threads of gold, where destinies await.
Our love, a beacon, shining through the night,
Guiding our souls, with its unwavering light.
A bond unbreakable, a love so deep and true,
A sanctuary found, between me and you.
Together we rise, on wings of purest white,
Soaring above, in love's eternal light.
My Dragon Princess, fierce and ever strong,
My soul's companion, where we both belong.
In every whisper, every tender sigh,
My love for you, will never truly die.
No fleeting passion, but a timeless vow,
A love eternal, here and ever now.
Exploring depths, of joy and tender bliss,
Sealed with a promise, a soft, loving kiss.
So hand in hand, we'll journey on our way,
Through winding paths, where wild winds gently sway.
Our love's a fortress, standing strong and tall,
My heart's devotion, given once and for all.
And through the ages, our legend will remain,
A love story whispered, through sunshine and through rain.
My Angel, Dragon, Muse, my Love, my life,
A gift from heavens, to end all earthly strife.
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 4:33 PM UTC
Abbott J Hardison
e
e
z
I think I disappoint my family,
Every time I Be abbreviating my middle name.
u
t
At least I'm working to get my name known,
So when I sign 'J.' people will wonder what it is.
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 8:52 PM UTC
You do not belong to this soil,
not the way they did—
feet sinking into peat,
lungs lined with salt and prayer,
bodies turning to moss before memory.
But still, you stand here,
four generations late,
hands in your Primark pockets,
mouthing names you were never meant to carry,
even as they sit inside you,
your first name stamped with their last,
a borrowed relic you never earned.
Your brother gripped the wheel like a lifeline,
right-side driving out of Dublin,
left shoulder braced against muscle memory,
like he expected the road to turn on him.
Mom rode shotgun,
printed-out censuses fanned across her lap,
highlighted, annotated, dog-eared—
a roadmap made of the dead.
You sat in the backseat,
cheek against the window,
watching Ireland unfold in slow exhales—
stone walls dividing nothing from nothing,
a horizon stitched with ruins,
the color of a postcard left too long in the sun.
Mom recited their names like prayer beads,
rolling them through her fingers,
waiting for recognition
that did not come.
And then you were there—
the grass, damp and grasping,
twined around your ankles,
softened under your weight,
pulling you down like something remembered.
The graveyard was older than the road that brought you there.
Headstones leaned like tired men,
softened by wind, by rain,
by the weight of a hundred years unspoken.
Their names smoothed into murmurs,
the dates washed into dashes.
And at every grave,
a small stone sign,
half-buried in moss,
letters chipped but certain:
KNEEL AND PRAY.
Not a suggestion. A sentence.
You did not kneel.
You touched the name instead,
ran your fingers over the grooves,
over the letters that built you
without ever knowing you would come.
A crow clicked its beak from the low wall,
watching the three of you like it had seen this before,
like it knew how this ended.
You whispered something you could not name.
The wind took it from your mouth,
tucked it into the tall grass,
laid it at their feet.
And then you left,
but the wet earth held its claim,
clinging to your soles,
like it knew you’d be back.
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 2:02 PM UTC
Outside is Gray
Like my name
Lovely and broken
Misty and forgotten
Outside is Gray
Not spelled the same
Still hated in happiness
But loved in sorrow
Dec 15, 2024
Dec 15, 2024 at 12:53 AM UTC
Their names and
Stories are lost
To time but
They clearly meant
The world to someone
Feb 16, 2025
Feb 16, 2025 at 4:27 AM UTC
Sometimes I’m [deadname]. She is Dominican mango. Perfectly sweet. She wears dresses and skirts, she is a princess. She is perfectionistic, soft-spoken, and proper, just as her mother is. She thinks that academics are the only thing that she can prove her worth with, but doesn’t let anyone know. She feeds off of the validation of others. She strives to be at the top of her class, anything less would make her a failure. She never stops until she succeeds, never giving up. She is smart. She is successful. She is perfect. She is my cursed present. She is [deadname].
Sometimes I’m [dead-nickname]. She is slightly unripe guava. She is bitter-sweet, delivering a punch of flavor. She is like the innocent child who has yet to learn the dreads of living. She is playful and loves doing her doll’s hair, braiding and brushing it, just as her mother does for her. She makes bracelets and handwritten cards as presents, writing all the little poems that flow through her mind like the wind flowing through the trees. She loves the swings at the park, flying high. She is like a bird that has yet to leave the nest. She is brave. She is playful. She is creative. She was my childhood. She is [dead-nickname].
Sometimes I’m Lumin. They are starfruit. Bold, sweet and sour, tangy and **** They are bright, like the celestial wonder they were named after. They light up any room they walk into as their outspoken and unforgiving self. Their luster makes others stop and stare. They are like a warrior that would do anything to defend the people they love. A leader that leaves no soldier behind. They don’t let anyone tell them what to do. They are brave. They are confident. They are bright. They are my future. They are Lumin.
They all struggle to coexist in this world. They never get along, fighting like siblings. But they jumble up and create the mess of a person that I am. I wish that I could live by the name that is me, but walls of steel stop me from fulfilling it. So, for now, I’m [deadname], [dead-nickname], and Lumin.
Nov 25, 2024
Nov 25, 2024 at 6:41 PM UTC
Casper
That's the name they gave me
The intentions weren't friendly
They used it mockingly
Albeit creatively
Because my skin was alabaster pasty,
I was Jack Skelington skinny
And, apparently,
My blond hair and blue eyes weren't manly
So then,
I embraced it and turned it on them ceremoniously
No more Casper the Friendly,
Just Casper the Deadly
Turned to the ghost that gave nightmares to Freddy
Made the devil look heavenly
That persona went at any and every enemy
But now that I'm 40
I've let that part of me leave me
Though it was the only part of me that believed in me
The scratched up side of my flipped penny
...I miss is secretly...
©2024
Aug 5, 2024
Aug 5, 2024 at 7:21 PM UTC
The memory of so many pretty faces;
The forgetfulness of most of their names is my
Responsibility to claim. And the world is truly small
Whenever those stranger’s faces, once again come my way
The older woman is, “aunty,” the wiser man has to be everyone’s
“Good uncle.” “Sir or Madam,” to politely and professionally say,
I wasn’t paying much attention the first time you gave your name
Peers are referred to as, “bra.” “My brother,” to fellow church goers,
To faithfully say we’re all children of the Lord- why do we need to use
These earthly names at all. “My beautiful sister,” just to avoid any
Confrontation- then leave me to go online to do my research, when
I finally get home
Jul 31, 2024
Jul 31, 2024 at 3:22 PM UTC
god is not a proper noun.
It’s more a job description.
Jesus is very different:
god embodied in a person
So, don’t go exploring
a systematic doctrine.
Begin with seeking out
the person worth discovering.
Jul 31, 2024
Jul 31, 2024 at 4:06 AM UTC