My name always trips folks,
A cumbersome journey across their tongue.
They stumble, swallow it down their throats,
Choking on who I say I am.
The last syllable jumbles into one letter
Chopped.
I never considered my name
Difficult to pronounce.
Somehow the journey to introduce myself
Falls flat before the final destination.
Eternally at the end when people can’t be
Bothered.
Nic. Nique. Elle. So and so’s relative.
Mo.
All wrong, but united in shouting
I am not my own person.
In relation to someone else.
Theirs to label and value.
Pronounced close enough.
Close enough.
I answer anyway.
Hare forward.
Bodaciously Black
