The Unspoken

Had to write it out today,

that clunky middle name.

It always felt like something tacked on,

not quite the same.

My first name, that was a statement,

chosen with care, they’d say.

But the one that sits between,

what did it mean that day?

A quiet nod, a forgotten friend,

a virtue they once hoped to see?

It never felt like it belonged,

a space inside of me.

Just faded ink on yellowed paper,

a half-remembered plea.