Escapril: Without Your Name, Who Are You?

Without my name,
I am skin with a personality,
a body with a mind,
a mush of thoughts and feelings,
but no one to credit them to.
I am that anonymous quote
you once saw, from a forgotten
philosopher who had no name.
I am made of blood and tears,
but without my name,
who will come to my funeral?
I am tired eyes and blistered lips,
swollen heart and crushed brain,
because without my name,
I am a mess.
Without my name, who am I?
Forgotten or remembered
just as the one with no name?
How can you be remembered
if no one knows your identity?
Banksy, I suppose, I could become,
an artist who hides their real name
yet has great success,
like me maybe, without no name.
With my name, I have boundaries,
without it, perhaps I am limitless.
I am no longer limited to identity;
it might be freeing, to have no name.

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