I've been called so many things in the past thirty-eight years

Good things

Bad things

Flattering things and

Downright nasty things

I've been called out my name more times than I can count

By people who, when I thought about it - didn't count

On October 17, 1964, Mama called me

Michele Rene Jackson

Somehow that got translated into

Pretty girl

Illegitimate bastard

Skinny

High yella heffa

Red bone

Niggah

Black Lightning

Oreo

Wanna be white

Walt's girl

Darren's sister

Rev. Hall's daughter

Beautiful

Intelligent

Articulate

Breath taking

Stuck up

Stubborn

Stank

Moody

Mean

Hard core

Freak

Friend

Sister

Mother

Lover

Playa

Heart breaker

Cold blooded

Damn, that girl is hard!

She's confused

She's misunderstood

Leave her alone, man

She's crazy for real

More names

More labels

More descriptions

More adjectives

More disparaging remarks that assassinate my character

Beating me down under the weight of their words

Under the pressure of trying to live up to what they called me

Then I realized

It's not what they call me that counts

It's what I answer to