on changing my last name.

to the scent of pink and yellow i awake
in eight point five hours (eight point seven zero unbeknownst to me),
i relinquish 'fiance', nine out of ten, nine a.m. to five p.m. and
hardest perhaps of all
father/mother-of-the-bride.
she, invisible, until the aisle of stairs descends,
wood splintering, shattering the presence of those present
then all i see, all i choose to see now,
is her beauty, white, lost on me, waiting for me
i choose to ruminate less on the motherless, fatherless, penniless side of me.
as her fingers steady mine i reflect
on how Shakespeare may have been fool
her and i, we know what's-in-a-name.
we've been the prey and yet
we've spun webs of lies to not be venomized,
our hearts, they've been pierced by pixel daggers,
fonts that oozed acrimony,
because of the name we embody.,
tick.
tick.
tick. it still feels like i'm living in a capsule ready to explode
whenever i choose the truth : third person : feminine.
our tears over the precarious name, suspended like a guillotine--
they have not been left unshed.
but it is a choice, i'm learning,
to empower or to hold in contempt
the names we've been given and
my right hand is learning a new language, signature foreign to nerves.
before the ink dries, i revel in being reborn,
in changing my last name.