By Juniper Cassaway
In this trying time,
A name seems to be… illusive.
Exclusive only to the trans people who are happy to leave their birth name in the grave.
And while I know a deadname is not a universal truth,
I still can’t help but feel strange that my birth name is not at this time foreign to me.
The state refuses to allow a swift transition to a chosen married name,
My government first and last name are still the only thing official about me,
And yet… I chose another.
My made up last name and my concocted first name.
Existing nowhere on record except in every personal email, along with my pronouns (they/them, if you must know),
I don’t hate my birth name just enough that I use it as my pen name.
(which is extremely amusing to me)
I am not so far removed from those who knew me as such that I have fooled everyone yet, and while that’s a little disheartening,
A true writer never gives up at the thought of a literary challenge.
And aren’t all the best main characters continuously forging their own path towards a future of great reward?
Consider me small rich already and ready for an even bigger inheritance.
An aggravated and invigorated Joya Polk
Currently residing in Baton Rouge