I am ashamed of my surname.
It’s bold, it’s brutal and it’s embarrassing to have as a female.
I lay blame for my surname.
It’s masculine, it’s ancestral, it’s a horrible moniker for a lesbian.
I feel pain for my surname.
It’s the last of its kind, it’s deceased, it’s a joke…
So I cut it in half.
I threw away the gender attachment and cocooned into a Hood of pseudonym.
I lay claim to my surname.
It’s legal, it’s employed, it’s identified.
I abstain from Google searching my surname.
It’s phallic, it’s medical, it’s Mills & Boon material like “she was aroused at the sight of his exposed bulge, his pulsating package, his staff of sex…
But it’s my surname.
It’s unwed, it’s happy, it writes, it drinks fruit tea. It’s a great ice breaker, it’s the title to my voice.
The choice i make to embrace it or run away, is my choice to make
In the end
Of my first name