“Those who have been told the truth
should not be taken for those
who have been scorned.”

The first time I like
the sound of my name
it fell from your crooked lips.

Seemingly foreign,
yet easily interwoven into
ringlets framing my perception.

You speak each
syllable sunshine
mixed with the
awkwardness of the moon,
reflecting brilliance
no matter the cadence.

For a fleeting moment,
in the melody of the occasion,
I too am fooled.

I see myself
birthed from clam shell,
goddess gripping
bow and arrow,
my words woven
into golden strings.

You tricked me.

It isn’t just
your sycophantic
words and slips
of tongue.

It is in the way
I see my reflection,
the shine of myself
mirrored in your
clouded eyes,
a strange smile
readily returned.

The name
you give me,
a gift,
more beautiful
than I can ever be.