Wednesday, February 26, 2003

When I got started here

When I got started here I feared
to be identifiable -
irrationally petrified
it made my heart shut down inside me
like I felt when I was small
and knew if anybody saw
or even thought of me I’d die, or worse -
I’d disappear as if I’d never been.
I made myself a name that didn’t
fool a soul except my own
and shared myself with all who’d have me
revelations, jokes, flirtations,
made myself a new persona
others started to identify
me with the name that hid my face
I made my rounds and, grateful,
also started making allies
approbation unexpected
strangers sharing, I with them,
and once I had submerged myself
in pseudononymous engagements
I came to realize my false
persona really was myself.
Why had I felt compelled to hide?

My real name, as dull as spoons
inciting those facetious nicknames
dandy dan or dantheman
and others equally unsuited
to my sense of who I was
which was, itself, a product of
those gradeschool recesses alone
the hours on my bed with books
or, wracked, frustrated, there without them,
rambling, insomniac, ungainly,
cleverer by far than wise,
my real name took on the traits
I hated most about myself
and then of course my clumsy surname,
overgrown, ridiculous,
again reminding me of me
until I just had to ignore
my name, identify with other things.
I think that may have some connection
to my lingering reluctance
to reveal myself by name
to those I now consider friends.
I chuckle humorlessly, wishing
something more from those connections
yet hide behind a moniker
that mocks my rank dishonesty.

I’ll have to get this matter settled
learn to live as who I am
and fold the honesty I feel
when masquerading as another
with the self who really is -
ashamed, distorted, fearful, wary,
pupa in a chrysalis
that is my name
My name is Dan.