The poem that I'm about to perform is entitled Butcher My Name As the meat clerk yells out Order up for Makeshi?

Miyakee Masocko [snaps] is it you?

Its Masaki, actually I think to myself, after I correct the pronunciation of my name Where, Do these other letters come from?

Miyaki?

Really?

and why is this person chuckling And maybe I too should find the irony hilarious If I wasnt so annoyed waiting for my order in this deli while the cashier apologizes for butchering my name at this point, Im used to it My name is the fat that holds the flavor of my homeland but still too much umami for this countrys taste So when its being chopped down by a meat cleaver mouth I correct them.

because my name its a proud wave of a tattered flag It is my address you can tell where I am from.

They say a name does not define you, but mine.

Mine gives me definition My name, is Masaki My name, is Masaki Takahashi It is the pride of mother It is the only remnants of my my father I have left My name means high bridge, flourishing tree As if my parents were prophets knowing of the troubled water I would have to encounter while trying to stay rooted in this life.

My name does not mean roadkill to their lead foot lips Speeding too fast to notice the syllables they ran over.

It is not the carcass for these vultures to pick at.

I can remember always having to fight for this name.

school yard bullies hunting me like dead meat Kids who heard my name and turned the jungle gym into a kill cage Who wouldnt let me play on the swings so I had to learn how to swing Busted lip, black eye, swollen fists I have bled for this name and this name will not submit to their slaughterhouse sensibility It will not be anglicized for resumes or changed for anyones convenience It is not appropriate to appropriate To cut down into perfect model minority pieces for their charcuterie spread acceptance My name.

It is Masaki.

It is the one that my mother gave me.

The family recipe that I am made from.

And I would much rather starve than allow anyone to just butcher my name.

Wow.

Thank you so much for that poem that we just heard.

That was really great.

And I really love it.

I think it's one of the first poems I ever heard from you.

Well, thank you for having me.

Can you tell me a little bit more about that poem?

That poem, Butcher My name is so strong.

I love the the use of this conceit, the metaphor of using the butcher and being at a deli and continuing those images.

Can you talk a little bit about, like, why it was so important to bring that theme into a poetic audience?

There are a lot of idioms, you know, you ever hear like a idiom and you just like it just sticks with your head is like, sorry, sorry to butcher your name.

It's been said to me so many times and I was like, I have to write a poem called Butcher.

That's the thing about poetry.

We write about, like is said to us and happens to us.

Yeah.

As somebody who has had my name butchered a lot, I had a lot of moments that really resonated with me.

I appreciate that.

Absolutely.

And actually, I was curious about the origins of your name.

Oh, so like my name.

It comes from two different kind of sources.

My mother, when she was in a church, one of her mentors was named Nandi, but also the original name is from the Zulu tribe in South Africa.

And my parents were really interested in African culture, so they read about the story of Shaka Zulu and his mother was named Nandi.

She was the Queen mother.

And so it also means like, great warrior and queen.

So I have a lot to live up to with that name.

I love that.

Thank you for sharing that origin.

because I've started to ask people, Hey, will you teach me your name in the sense of like, it's okay to mispronounce somebody's name because when you are learning, it's okay to make mistakes.

And I want to learn that just like the way that you taught me about the origins and the inspiration behind your name, I think that's beautiful.

So thank you for that.

Well, speaking of names, I know I hear your name all over the place.

You are the former Lansing poet laureate, which you were very great and successful with a lot of the projects that you did.

I'm curious, what is your greatest joy that you get out of poetry?

Teaching has been my favorite.

Doing workshops.

I went to this middle school in Jackson and I had a lesson plan and all of that, but it turned into an open mic.

Oh, it was so adorable.

Everybody was.

Is wanting to just say something And I tell teachers all the time.

The reason why these workshops are so exciting for students is because for the entire year, they have all this input that's given to them.

They're given all this information, information just input into them.

And then the moment you go and now you and theyre like finally I get to say something!

So may I ask you the same question as well with with the work that you done as poet laureate and your favorite part of.

That's kind of two questions, right?

Yeah.

My favorite thing that has happened to me when as poet laureate is I went into a fifth grade classroom and I was trying to explain to them what a poet laureate is, because a lot of people in Michigan just don't know the word even.

And this one student raised his hand and he said, So are you like the president of poetry?

And I like that idea.

I left thinking that I could be the poet, the president of poetry.

My favorite thing about poetry, especially writing poetry, is when I fall into, like, something strange.

Yeah.

It really means that, like, Oh, this maybe hasn't been said before.

And I feel like in my writing process, when I.

When I happen upon something that hasn't been said before, then that's where I'm excited.

Like, Oh, I could really write something beautiful now.

I love that.

I love that.

Thank you.

Well, thank you so much for coming and joining us.

And thank you so much for sharing your poetry.

I believe you're going to share another poem, right?

Yes.

Yes.

I'm really excited about that.

Can you tell us a little bit about that poem before we hear it?

It's wanting to really talk about my childhood and the way that I grew up to create more empathy.

Sometimes I go to open mics and I think some some people trauma dump.

And I think it's it's not malicious, but it is in the sense of like, we need to work on the storytelling of this aspect to make it more concise.

And I was wanting to showcase this at my open mic to say, Hey, how do we do this?

And talk about being personal and having being so vulnerable in this, but also leave out the details that aren't really needed sometimes and to make it art.

Because I often think I think it's a great place for people to share their vulnerabilities.

But if you are crying while reading it, maybe it's not really time yet.

And I felt like I was in a good spot to do that, to share such vulnerabilities of of my childhood.

The circus show, Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages.

I present to you the greatest show on Earth.

Come gawk and glare at the carnage.

Witness the trauma.

Be amazed by the three ring circus that is my childhood Boy birthed into a family of carnies.

My father.

A disappearing act.

My mother, a cut in half beauty still stuck in a box of false promises.

My entire life, I studied to be an escapeologist from any home and anybody that tried to love me.

And this is how I learn to protect myself.

To be an illusionist, a trickster, a personality like a funhouse mirror.

It makes fun of everything it sees.

My mother wired her life savings to my aunt and uncle to be my guardians, just for me to be caught in the wires A child, having to learn how to walk a tightrope tension across continents.

My mother sent her only son to a family that couldn't have one.

It is then I become a freak show to my aunt, a constant reminder of all she could not give my uncle.

I become my uncle's favorite part of the show To him,I was all the rage.

gunpowder kindling for his flint spark desires.

He showed me how to use blame to blow things up like a marriage.

Told me to sit shotgun on carrides made my aunt sit in the back seat like the child she couldn't bear This is where I learned it is best to make myself small, found safety in being unseen.

Fear taught me to be a contortionist.

To twist myself into acceptance.

A life unstable.

Everything.

Always in that air.

So I learned to be a trapeze artist or a trapped appeasing everybody artist Rsking my life to grab onto anything.

Not too fall from the bar of approvals others have set for me.

I'm so good at this.

It has become second nature, this learned behavior.

I am my aunt's malfunctions, my uncle's fury, my mother's iron jaw I am just like my father.

Watch how I make everything that gets close to me.

Just disappear.

So when my wife leaves, I cannot blame her.

When she wants me to hold her at night I can't give what I don't have.

I can't get what I don't know I deserve.

She wants to know the secrets of my circus.

She says I'm always boarded up and I do not know what that means.

She cannot love the aftershow.

So this is the final curtain.

Me left feeling more broke than a bankrupt kissing booth.

An animal whipped into submission.

Watch how the audience claps for the beating of my childhood.

Chained to all this trauma.

I studied to be an escapeologist all of my life.

But I still can't find a way to leave.

So come one.

Come all come gawk and glare at the carnage that I have become.

Everybody loves the circus, but nobody wants to know the cruelty it takes to put on a show.