People called me weird; people called me strange.
I've been called corny and cliché.
I've been called ugly,
unintelligent or “funny,”
disrespectful or loud.
I own many titles,
but these writers don't even know my name.
And when I read them and turn the page,
I act as if I hadn't been hit with stones
or pieces of sticks,
or burned with wax that will dry
and peel off the skin.
They act disappointed or disgusted with gray.
They act as if I should be ashamed
to own such a title as my name.
But I wear it as a crown,
being ordinary in a way,
being simple but not basic, you could say.
So yes, I have many names,
but I've learned to answer to them with a smile.
Real or fake.
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Author:
A.N. (
Offline) - Published: October 2nd, 2026 19:58
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Fränz Müller
Offline)
Comments1
A good poem with a message that one is more than what one is called and it all depends upon which one a person responds to. Nicely done
Thank you!
You are very welcome
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