Please sign your name on the dotted line

Please print your name on the dotted line.

Which name?
The one you've given me.
Or the one I feel in my soul.
The name that escapes my lips when I'm touched,
or the one I yell out when I'm scared.
The name I want to be known as,
or the name the fans are screaming.
The names of my ancestors,
or the names of my children.
The names of the people I've walked passed on the way to school,
or the name of the man who raped that little girl.
The names of the ones I've watch dance,
or the ones that I've lost.
The names of the brothers,
mothers,
sisters and sons who have fought for my freedom
but whose legacy has been tainted by an the importance of economy.
The name of the kid who died because didn't have enough to eat,
or the name of the old man who sold me a spliff.
The names of soldiers who have died,
or the names of their mothers who cried.
The names of the presidents,
or the names of the freedom fighters.
The names of those who ridiculed me,
or the teachers whose eyes condescended upon me.
The name of that guy who killed himself,
or of the girl who cut herself.
The name of the angel who saved me,
or of the demon who kept inviting me.

Because I am all of these names,
each one has been imprinted in me,
both breaking and taking,
but replacing bits of me.
These are the names I carry with me,
that I feel all around me.
Smothering me.

So which is it then?