Losing your name.

You don't realize the weight your name carries.
Who it affects, positively or negatively.
None of that matters,
Until you're forced to remove it.

You take deep breaths,
Still noting those other names.
You recognize from long ago;
Shining bright in their own polite quiet-ness.

But you weren't born for quiet.
You were loud,
Unruly, unapologetic, but loving. Loyal.
You gave your all to help build, create, maintain.

Yet now, when that voice you used to speak loudly. Proudly from.
Has been told to be silenced,
You nod
Meekly
And obey.

In the end,
Did it matter what your name was?
Because your voice no longer matters.

You return, hoping not to be removed, thrown away.
This is your Home.
And as you lace your skates,
You note how thin your ice is.

Others, around you, pound their fists into their thick ice patches.
Drawing up your ire in their hatred of those you desire to stand up for.
But you chew the inside of your lip as you stand,
Your ice is a thin patch now,
Your name means nothing.
You push off, skating,
Between the frozen bodies of past.

You know you can wind up just like them.
You are trying your best to remain in your Home.

Through thick. Or thin.