Oh, Just Recently, my name ended in 'Matters'
Not surprising, The U.S Civil rights was in tatters.
Wasn't the first time though. My monikers often are varied
I've been Bland, I've been Bama, whichever motion was carried.
I was born of a script, initially coded to birth a Trend,
Never knew I was to become a Unifier upon whom causes depend.
My name is myriad, it evolves, my only constant is a symbol
Apt, I represent a canvas upon which reactions gambol
Keyboard Warriors consist my most common Conceptors
Impressionable Millennials, my most common receptors.
My name changes can befuddle an observer. I am Agatu today,
Tomorrow, I'm a herdsman. Aggressor tomorrow, Victim today.
With surprising clarity, therein lies not my confusion.
Neither is my short life span the reason for my disorientation
Nor is it in the ease with which my new names are chosen,
For I'm as useful as the middle ranked witch in a coven.
But, Have you ever been trapped in a futile circle of purpose?
Only if you're a Vice-President or a social worker, I suppose.
Then why must I end at my name? Why must my skin be shed?
Constantly being forgotten and replaced by another trend?
I suppose some could call me a rallying cry for many an Issue.
But I know better, I assuage consciences. I'm a feminist's tissue.
Be calm, I know, I will introduce myself. Don't be a nag.
You know who I am. I'm your latest fad. I am a HASHTAG.
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