Nameless- A poem by Greyson Arnold

I’m ok with being nameless when it comes to my actions

A faceless do-gooder who is remembered simply by the act,

nothing else.

But when it comes to my writing, I am quite the opposite.

My words are about the only thing I hold consistent pride in.

So when I say I want credit for my work

I want you to mark that piece with a brand shaped in my name,

Use a fire as strong as my opinions.

Make it irremovable,

Irrevocably the product of my experiences and my experiences alone.

And yes, I do have experiences.

Dark ones, behind closed doors.

Ones filled with tear-stained pillows and a mind fighting not to add blood stains.

When I write I bring every ounce of that pain to the forefront,

requiring my mind to relive each experience again and again.

So forgive me if i get territorial over the product of my continual resurrection of the past,

It’s my last connection to who I used to be.

Who I used to be is a stranger now,

and I am more okay with that than others are.

But my writing is what has remained constant about me.

A reliable safe haven for me to run to,

no matter how long it’s been

or how horrible I’ve been.

So when my ties to people loosen,

or my connection with myself seems to disintegrate

I want to see these works of art claiming me as their maker

reminding me I can put good into the world.