To accept all the names I’ve been called
by those who brought me into this,
from “bun in the oven” to “bundle of joy,”
from “such a good boy” to “mother’s burden…”
is not a revolutionary act.
To accept the names I’ve been called by those
who did not want to know my name,
from “that little shit over there” to “move along,”
from “dickhead” to “asshole” to “druggie” to “scum…”
is not a revolutionary act.
To accept the names I’ve been called by those
to whom I was useful, from “asset” to “employee
of the quarter,” from “resource” to “up and coming,”
from “diamond in the rough” to “stalled in position…”
is not a revolutionary act.
To call myself a name of my choosing, change it
for the day or the duration, say that I am what I am
regardless of how I am fixed in the constellations
of others who use and see me only in terms of
my impact upon them is vital but is not itself
a revolutionary act. The revolutionary act will come in the moment
when all of us — those who have been called every possible name
and those who have tried on every possible name —
stand together without regard to names or titles or roles
and say: you called this impossible, yet here we are…
