My name is “He”,
and I’m 33,
and growing up was tough for me.
I’ve been forced to answer
“Where is He?” and “How is He?”
and “He is in a lot of trouble”.
My name, I think,
was some practical joke,
(my parents were high school pranksters)
I try to ask why,
but all they say
is “We love you, and that’s all that matters”.
All I can say that I understood
were whispers from the halls
of that monstrous high school building;
“He is strange”
“He ain’t normal”
“He’s dangerous” and “He didn’t hear”
I should say I’m amazed
I’ve survived with a name like “He”,
and now I have a wife and child
and educational degrees
proving no one cares
what your name is,
only who it means.
So as I lift
my daughter named “She”
into her booster seat,
I know it’ll be a hard lesson to learn,
but she’ll be glad she did,
like me.
