My Name is A Form of Resistance

My name is a form of resistance
Against the anglicanization
and exotification

Of a body and a struggle

You don’t even have the

Syllables

To comprehend.

My name is a form of resistance

Because my mother

Named me for my Homeland.

She named me

to belong

No matter where

my feet would find me.

My name is a form of resistance

Because I was blessed in birth

To embody an oral history
that was kissed to my forehead
like a prayer
joining

Air and Earth
to Flesh and Blood.

My name is a form of resistance
Because it means hope and aspiration

in Sanskrit

across the Crimson scars you have left

on the faces of those

who have tried

to Rise.

My name is a form of resistance so

just because

You cannot pronounce it

Does not give You the right

To dismiss it

Or erase it

And then make me feel like

Suddenly

It doesn’t fit.

Because I respond to my name,

Battle cries,

I take charge in my name.
I am blessed unlike those

Who don’t need a face and story

To ground them to a history they see

Everywhere

I am visible in my name

So no,

I don’t have a nickname.

For I will not shorten

Or adjust even a bit of myself

To fit the capacity

you have

To stomach Me.
And my nine letters

Can spell

more defiance,

more passion,

more fire

than you will ever be able to extinguish.

My name is a form of resistance

because I was named for a purpose.

And like all things that have a purpose,

I will not rest
until mine
on this earth
is fulfilled.

So I will tell my stories,

I will them for they need to be heard,

And I invite pride to come into the hearts

Of those who wait submerged

For my name is a form of resistance.

And in it, I am empowered,

Loud, and clear.