Too Many Syllables

Poem by Dania Bajwa

there is no question I dread more
than the one that seeks out my fear
ironic, I know
they say it breaks the ice
I say nothing but my own being
shatters
when in response

and so they ask me, without hesitation
what is your biggest fear?
and I say, almost apologetically
name tags

as always
my response is met with
furrowed eyebrows
and wandering eyes
because of course
they wouldn’t understand

the way my heart drops
every time I am handed a piece of paper
far too small
for the name I must inscribe upon it
and the way I feel tyrannical
burdening the strip in front of me
with a foreign word
with far too many syllables
and the way I feel
that with each letter I impose
I am staining the slip
clean, white, and pure
and the way I feel unbothered
to leave it unfinished
to leave the rest of my name hanging in an abyss
because it doesn’t need to be all there
they know it’s me anyway
and the way I mispronounce my motherland
so it seems more like a foreign, abstract concept
and less like roots
or dare I say
identity
and the way I always wonder
why did the alphabet have to have 26 letters anyway?
and the way I blame my parents for naming me something so
inconvenient
for others to pronounce
and the way I regret having an identity
so bothersome

and the way I envy those with names that fit
because my name doesn’t fit
so neither do I