Far away, not so long ago,
Lived a Girl with No Name,
who went her entire life thinking she knew
when to turn her head, ears open wide.
Two sun circulations ago she met a boy with
a Lovely Name, the most lovely of names that could
grace her uneven lips. He taught her that
what she knew was no longer true:
She had no Name, She never Did. She never Would.
The closest thing she’d be was a useless ‘you’.
A You she Was – that must be the truth.
What she felt versus what was true meant
that her heart grew apart.
Wandering far from the Boy with the Lovely name,
a man she met with an Ugly Name.
And all in one night, she was given
But when she heard the old familiar ring
echo from the even mouth, she no longer recognised
the sounds. She didn’t know what they meant.
When she heard her Name, She didn’t like it one
She declined the new man,
Though his intentions were true.
She ran back to the one who erased
the name, and would only know the arms
of all the later men who would.
A You she Was – that was the truth.
That’s where her worth was.
Is it interesting whom we grow away from?
Plants grow towards the sun to survive, just
as we grow close to others for sanity +
need. Are those who we grow away
the darkness from which we crave to fear as bairns?
I don’t care for you now, does that
mean I never did?