Labels

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.