This is my last name

I told that man that I hated him.

I cried and he watched me shed a tear for every man I hurt.

For every person I trampled over and pushed aside.

He watched me out of the corner of his eye, ashamed that he didn’t care.

His thoughtlessness built me a monster,

With rough skin and light feet that wandered, reveling in the lost.

I thought I had won when I shouted at him “Take back your last name, I don't need it!”,

But who do you truly wound when the person you throw the dagger at is impenetrable?

Do I die a little every time I realize that I’m still being ignored?