I gave myself an unfamiliar name before their appearance beside a rainbow, besides my right to live aloft clouds. I pasted it beneath my knees where I tried to steal the shadows of my flesh, for an acceptance of my flaws. I wrote it above my head, clasped it between my palms, and bent it over my stomach. I slid it inside the pockets of men and took it back after a kiss on sleepless calls. I folded it on my ring finger, brought it on the skin of my expensive clothes, and washed it with soap made of spoiled milk. I gave it a shelter to not wither along with the painted pink skies nor on the rain my roof never wanted to keep. I rolled it under my tongue slid it down my throat and made it rest on my shoulders until it got heavier and messier for me to throw.
I was left with my bygone name which I buried below the ground and soon floated unproud along with my worn-out skirts. I was left with no choice but to carve it once more against my skin, hide and seek; see? it was a nightmare!
Whatever I did, I would always want myself gone with the wind, atop of a void, without a name. And people would call me out just to ask who I was. I needed no identity, but I would create one I could be proud of thereupon.
Still, I would be gone for I did not have a name. And I belong to a verse unheard, to no one in these verses. I was an art's creator made of nothing and had nothing to rule, but could produce a million middle fingers made of comets and metaphors fated to salute.
Published by: Julianne Rose M. Laureano
Date Published: February 7, 2022
Time Published: 6:36 pm
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