Hello, Jamie

They handed me the little square,

a sticky paper, plain and white.

"Your name goes here," they didn't care

how I felt, under the harsh bright light.

I scrawled out 'Jamie,' made it neat,

then peeled the backing, a thin, quick tear.

It clung to my thumb, a paper treat,

a brand I didn't want to wear.

Stuck it on my shirt, just below my chin,

felt the edges curl, a slight resistance.

Like a fake smile, about to thin,

a borrowed skin, for a short distance.

"Hello," I thought, "to this new me."

Already longing to be free.