[Here is another poem that originally featured on my poetry blog, as was this one, if you remember.]
I know this isn't your name yet
but really it always has been.
Soon there will come a day that you will realize this,
and this will be hard,
and some people will hate you,
and at times you will consider the poetry of suicide,
the filling up of lungs by lakewater,
or of simply stopping.
But know that it will also be so so good;
know that you will know a lightness of being,
a pleasant uprooting,
an ascension from the cement heart you think that is natural;
know that you are loved.
And even though the vase in your chest at present is cracked,
there will come a chilly day in April
that you will meet a nice girl in one of your classes
and she will look at you as if she knows you from somewhere
and she will ask you if you know the human who put the chisel to your chest
and you will smile
and answer yes
and you will refer to him as a dear friend,
which he by then will be.
And you will think about all of this
standing on a train platform
headed into the city,
and Beyonce will be playing,
and although it is chilly you welcome the wind
like a friend from long before,
and you will be smiling,
and although you will never lose hope for what still isn't,
you will thank the world for what is,
and when the train comes you will get on it.