My name is Izaak and when I am small,
When my pride is hurt and I’m none too tall,
I’d wish sometimes that I could run and flee.
I’d wish anyone to be me but me
My name is Prideful and I am not here.
I can’t show my face when I’m filled with fear.
Devoured from within, riddled with guilt
I cannot help it. It’s how I’m built.
My name is Grace; did you know that I left?
(I never was there; for you ‘twas no theft)
You might replace me with poise or panache;
No matter your choice you’ll be just as brash.
My name is Doubt. Do you think yourself deep?
That you are alone, your thoughts yours to keep?
That your words are yours, never before said?
Please let me see, let me into your head!
My name means laughter that glorious thing
That brings people joy when peals of it ring
It wasn’t my choice, but what’s in a name?
It bestows neither pride nor cowardly shame
It controls no destiny, commands no fate
Even still yet, to me it lends weight.
I may not with grace be wholesomely built.
Nor have I got pride, that powerful lilt.
I might doubt my strength, thus falter and stall.
But my name is Izaak. Here I stand: tall