you called me

You tried to call me

by something

I wasn’t.

You tried to call me “love.”

You tried to name me.

You tried to

fit me

in a place

you thought

I belonged.

But soon,

you called me “too much.”

Or “too little.”

But you never called me

“Enough.”

I fell short.

I needed

to

“calm

down.”

You tried to name

my passions.

You tried to name

my plans.

And for a while

for a while

(oh, my dear)

for a while,
I believed you.

I did.

I was content

in a cage

singing for you

and

being fed

my name.

But when I became

too much

when my song

was too loud

you covered my

cage

to make me

sleep.
I slept.

One day,

(graciously, now I see)

you set me free.

And I didn’t

know

how

to be
free.

(Oh, dear.)

I did not have someone

to name me

so

who
was I?

I could’ve been what you named me.

I could have been “Love.”

I could have been what

you called me.

But that’s not

me.

Oh,

that’s

not

me.

You gave me crowns,

oh

such crowns

you crowned me

with tinsel

and soft words

and roses

and gentle

promises.
But all of those things

broke.

Tinsel crowns

fall off.

When I bowed my head to listen to you

it

fell

off.

So I forged my own crown.

A crown of hearty metal.

And it won’t slip off

because I won’t

look down

at you.

I won’t look at the

sandcastle

of names

I used to be called.

I call my own name now.

I name myself.

I arise and sing

like a bird uncaged.

So forge your own crown.

Wear it, and don’t let it slip.

Call your own name,

oh

call it until someone responds.

And if they don’t,

keep singing your song.

Oh, darling,

you may have to sing

alone

but

please

sing. 

Sing. 

Sing. 

Someday,

they may try

to call

again.

Call your own Name

before

you

answer.

a. w.