on sundays my name is….

…my name is… my name is..

I don’t know anymore.

Who am I?

I renamed myself,
but its not enough,
I found the name
before I knew
what it meant.

Its not my name.

If I stand here
and look
at myself
in the mirror,
I see what you see,
but do I see me
as I really am?

Tell me,
and I’ll look
through your eyes
and know
what my name really is.

Is it written somewhere?

If I stand here
in front of you
and say
you are tall,
and have dark hair
and a strong,
lean body;
you are funny
and sexy and cool
and I love you,
am I saying it to you,
or is it me I see?

Aren’t you my perfect mirror?

What is my name?
What do you call me??

Oh – who cares anyway??

I’m not my name.