I bear a stillborn name,
A name that is but never was.
This name the bandits mask,
The rug the true name was swept under.
I fell for the trick,
I learned to hate the smokescreen
Not knowing it for what it was.
I hate my fathers name that isn’t his
And even so, as unattached to him as it is
It binds me to him.
I look at the shackle in disgust:
His name: mine to give but not to take pride in.

So I hereby discard it and take with pride my mothers name, my grandfather’s.
That untarnished I pray to never tarnish,
That of which I’m proud I vow to do proud,
That which I have taken I shall happily give.
And at last, the name is me.


© Nathan Marc Adams