The most intimate part of a person

is their name. You can see it written

in the sky, on your soul. Do you

realize you have such power

with just a name? Perhaps you

give it away for free like sex, 

but only certain people call me

Chrissy, and after reading that

book where the main character

had my name, it fucked me up

because I never meant to tell you

anything. I fuck up every day

of the week. Write down my 

blunders and use them at my

eulogy. After a week, you’ll have

a novel

an illusion of who I am not

do you realize how beautiful I’m not?

It’s the camera and the words

I will convince you


that I don’t deserve any of you.

I will marry you anyway.

I will have your children.

You will make me breakfast.

You will tell me your real name.

That I deserve.


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