I was shocked this morning as I stumbled upon some old homework that I thought I sent home last year. It’s from a creative writing class, Freehold Theater to be exact. The prompt was “My Name”, and here’s what I wrote.
My name grew in a boot deep sea diving cut by grass and rusty tree sap, bitten from shame.
My name became the web of an old dusty cave dripped from Seattle cobblestone street vomit.
My name learned to grow roots down through the tooth of a dead horse, yelling from the fires of a dirt bike piston, spit of a dip copenhagen cancer lip.
My name remembered being buried by a shovel made of tears.
And that’s how I was born, frozen there between the seat and the gearshift, splintered by love blowing bubbles.
I Love My Life,
Marshall Byers
