The Name is quite a quandary,
Constantly collecting curators.
An identifier oft identified incorrectly,
Ourselves the biggest perpetrators.
“Hi, my name is Amal,” I said,
“Just like a shopping mall.”
Though reality disagreed within,
I swayed to society’s call.
For a year wandering lost,
Unfamiliar and alone,
Scraping by and trailing exhaust,
Too willing to condone.
Broken down to the bare bones,
The soul’s cry complained.
Reaching for hope’s promises,
Only conscious conscience remained.
Growth is a fickle friend,
Sprouting when expected least.
Similar so is understanding,
A perspective’s wisdom is leased.
“Hi, my name is /uh-mell/,” I smile.
“It means ‘hope’ in Arabic.”
The sun seems to shine brighter-
Staying true to my truth is the trick.
For life is like a window,
Glossy glass and see-through.
You can worry about your reflection,
Or you can appreciate faith’s view.