Your name is whispered over the phone when it’s dark out and not even the stars want to shine for you. Your name is screamed over guitars, through headphones, or up the stairs. Your name is three syllables. Your name is the beginning, middle, and end. Emily. It’s at the tip of your tongue and the first, second, and third most popular name in the country. Dancing girls spin their skirts to a tune that’s only five letters long, each one printed on a different finger.

Elizabeth. Your second name, the middle, an option filed away. You are royalty. Queens going back as far as the eye can see all raised on thrones with your name printed so very neatly at the bottom. It’s as long as the life you were meant to live, jumping over the twists and turns of the B’s and Z’s.

Your last name, a secret. The one you’re never supposed to tell. Your final name a code, one people put in to break you. It’s your identity. You are the Ms. to whom that name belongs. It is yours to change as you wish.

Most importantly, this name is you. The words that make your neck snap up when called, the words put on the top of every essay, test, and homework. This name is yours. Let yourself define it.