The Stranger’s Name

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
Sometimes condescending
Always entertained

What you don’t understand
Is that the complexity
Is non-existent
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.


7 thoughts on “The Stranger’s Name”

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