coffee name.

coffee name.

I don’t know if y’all see me

For who I really am.

Even after all this time.

The inner me reflects the outer me now

At least in my mind.

But you still can’t see me

For who I really am.

I’m so tired.

I didn’t think it’d be this hard.

Not at this point.

Is it the sound of my voice?

The size of my body?

My height?

Is it the way my name sounds?

Did you say Domenique or

*insert deadname*?

I couldn’t really tell.

Because plenty of women are definitely named

*insert deadname*.

Yeah, that makes sense.

That was totally the best way to address

someone dressing overtly feminine.

Your laziness causes harm.

Oh, it must be such an inconvenience

To put in a little bit of effort.

I shouldn’t have to use a different name

But I’m tired of triggering the memory

Of a dead man.

A man that never really existed.

A shadow, I can’t seem to get rid of

Even when the sun sets.

You never even met him

Yet you evoke the memory.

I’m tired of fighting you.

You win.

I’ll take voice lessons

I’ll use my new “coffee order name”

That sounds overly feminine, on purpose

So every time I order a chai

I don’t spiral into a pit of despair.

Can a name provide psychological safety?

Looks like we’ll find out.

To this day,

the dead man follows me, relentlessly.