I Have a Name That Is Unsatisfying

I hate my name.

When I signed it for the first time,

the paper went up in a flame,

and it came out as a crime.

As the coffee spilled over the paper,

I found the destruction.

It surrounded me like vapor,

and there was no more instruction.

Staring down at my own title,

having control over who I am

soaking through my vitals,

I am not Sam, and I don’t eat lamb.

It was like a mistake on the pie chart,

but it was more valuable than art.

At first, everything I wanted to write about seemed to not have any words that rhymed. I would have my fingers flying across the computer keys, but all the words had no connection through ending letters. Then I started to listen to music and realized that my name is something that I hate to write and say, but it is five letters that defines me in a simple two syllables. When I found something that was extremely meaningful to me, and I knew each flaw but those were overruled in the end by the reason I usually conclude; There is seven billion people in the world and most of us have the audacity to think we matter, and I am one of those seven billion and I am proud of that.