You would call me a poet
If the body by my feet was metaphorical
You would call me an actress
If the screams had been fake
You would call me an artist
If the blood on my hands were paint
You would call me conquerer
If the one body had been hundreds instead
You call me a murderer
And yet know nothing of my story
About Call Me By My Name:
Why did I write this poem? I don’t know, why does anyone write anything? For attention of course… Lol, just kidding. Partially…
Actually, this poem had sort of been clunking around in my brain for the last two days and I was ignoring it at first because I didn’t care for it too much but it demanded to be shared so here we are. I guess it originated from something I’ve been thinking about recently. And that is that we like to think of ourselves as having solid morals/values/ethics. Perhaps even more so than others. But the truth is, we never really know until we’ve walked in their shoes. It might just be that we would make the same mistakes as they did had we faced the same circumstances. That’s where the poem stemmed from (I think).
What did you think of Call Me By My Name? Let me know in the comments below because I would absolutely love to hear from you or simply stop by and say hi!
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