On Being Me, a poem

Here’s a mostly-good draft of a poem I worked (am working?) on. Writing a small story in a poem means sometimes letting a thought breathe from time to time:

Even my name isn’t my name

I think about the

funny

sad

story it could be

Maybe I’d be

“Jackson Squared”

The name suggests self by self

It would be her first

It must have felt like a little bump

a little push

a little something there

Then nothing.

My mother said she sat in the kitchen

subtracting a day from a day.

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