What’s in a label?
man, woman,
child, adult.
employed, or not.
married, divorced.
Each of these is
weighted.
Heavy,
Implying a construct,
a version of me
that you think you
want to see
because of this label,
this tag, you think
you know me.
You think you understand me.
But here’s the catch.
You. Don’t.
You. Won’t.
A label’s a label,
and that’s all it will ever be.
It can never sum up
the entirety of me.
Ignore the label.
Tear off the tag.
Remove the box, and the walls
that you have
placed me in.
Sit down.
Have a chat.
Share some
stories.
Share a meal with me.
Let your guard down,
get to know me.
Ask me those questions.
Ask me what happened.
Let me tell you my narrative;
not some convoluted
tale you’ve been told.
Some label you’ve pinned on me;
a tag you’ve limited me to.
I am more.
More than that tag.
Now I know this.
I know me.
And if you’d like to know me,
please pull up a chair,
lend me your ear.
Let me re-shape your
narrative of me.
So you can learn
So you can understand.
There may be parts of my story
that I am afraid to share.
Reluctant ghosts I don’t want
to air.
Respect me, if I choose not to share
all of me, but know
that this truth
my truth
is so much more than
the label you had pegged on me
That space you have allotted
me.