As a child
I used to be ashamed of my middle names
They were exotic
Even to the ears of the natives
They were a mouthful
That was surprisingly delightful
Like the tangy taste
You couldn’t quite get enough of
That you had to have another taste of.
You are a broken record
Repeating it over and over again
With that perplexed face
What you don’t understand
Is that the complexity
Neither it is, for your amusement
You are too blinded by the novelty
To understand the simplicity
That is staring right at your face.
A name is more than an address
Four words, twenty-three letters
That make up my name
Will dictate what I do:
What opportunities I will get.
Where I am accepted
Where I am thrown in the basket
Without my skills being considered
Even the slightest
Because my name was too foreign
To ever be understood by any land.