My Name

My name is a small, red-nosed child sneezing in the coldest of winter days, a pomegranate – sweet to some, bitter to others. It’s a label on a child’s toy. Exactly what it is. A small, fragile creature cocking its head to the side. The scent of a flower. Not Clo, Clo Dog Clo Clo, Khloe, Cloe, but Chloe. Spell it wrong and receive a free dirty look. I heard a soft whisper say Chloe. Then it turned into a talk, which grew into a loud shout, which turned into a scream. My name was being abused, stepped on, and the name I loved most was turning into something rotten. Like old cheese. It was bleeding, and my cheeks were as red as a freshly picked apple. Like a fall leaf blowing in the wind. But now my name was no longer an embarrassment. Once I found my place, my name was once again a catchy song, a soft quilt, a candle in a dark room, and a sunrise.