My name is the ocean.

My name is the seashore in the morning.

My name is the toy kicked under the bed on cleaning day.

My name is the moon, shining between the cracks in the blinds,

the sigh, keeping you up at night.

My name is tongues tripped up by a single syllable

and one too many "and sometimes y" inked indelible

my name is mispronunciations and false assumptions from substitute teachers wielding attendance lists.

my name is six letters long both when whispered in a crowd or shouted in the darkest silence.

My name is first born with an "s" to say please, be strong.

My name added the "y" to say, she will be, sometimes, why.

My name is the seashore, in the morning.

While the waves crash quietly against the sand of a beach I've yet to lay eyes on.

My name may be the silent letter wedged between the spaces of a "boys name" 

but in the baby book the markers beside my name read

"beautiful" and "seashore" 


"shayne" and "morgan"

my name is the ocean.

strong, and beautiful.

with waves crashing against the sand.

of a beach, I have yet to lay my eyes on.

my name is the ocean.

Shayne Morgan


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