• author
    • Stacey Robinson

    • December 15, 2016 in Bloggers

    My name is in me

    Will you name me,
    before I can name myself?

    Will you see my skin
    and name me a color,
    as if that defined me,
    as if pigment is a thing
    at all?

    Will you see my sex,
    my breasts that swell with milk,
    and desire, and righteous indignation,
    as if a mere body part
    or two can claim the whole of me?

    Will you find my name in my faith –
    or what you think of as my faith?
    Will you shackle me
    and shame me,
    blame me for what you
    think you know?

    My name is in my skin,
    in its cracks and rough-edged
    wrinkles, earned honestly
    in the measure of my days,

    It’s in my sex,
    in my womb that opened
    and my breasts that fed
    in my body that cradled life.
    It’s in my hands that reach
    higher than I could ever grasp,
    and my eyes that see
    beauty in the chaos of a storm.

    My name is in me,
    in my back that is bent,
    and my knees that don’t
    yet still they bear the
    weight of all my days.

    My name is in my faith
    even as I wrestle
    with the angels
    who still climb their ladders,
    and wrestle with me.

    I feel it, the name that I
    call myself, that I claim
    for myself. It dances
    along my skin, and fills me

    Would you name me?
    I have my own name,
    I don’t need yours.

      • Maya Spier Stiles North

      • December 20, 2016 at 10:20 pm
      • Reply

      The patriarchy would define us and claim us and own us, but we belong to ourselves and it drives them mad.

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