© Of Classification

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It seems as if theres no reputable or therapeutical cure to all this stress I'm misplacing

We're at each others throats constantly with not questions but statements of what one is and where another is from. Because of this, none have the chance to choose their own groups before being placed under one.
    
There is this tension under my skin because of the constant labels that are etched onto my surface.

Because of this, I can not show others even "nothing" because all they will see of me is what they have written under their lens, and not even they know for what purpose.

There are these knots in my neck because I feel as if I can never hold my head up like a proud women wearing the skin that I wear when there's constant malingering from those, who tell me, that they are my own people.

 

I'd like to wear my skin without being classified, but just being complimented for the beauty of its tint, or the way that it seems to hold in the warmth of my being.
The Gleam in my eyes that sings to all of how proud I am to be me, individually.  
The way that my curves seems to hint at the spiraling being within, the bumps that tell of my mistakes, because I'm only human, and the strong structures of my bones that pronounce my courage.
Or my delicate tongue that's prowess in representing my mind and letting out the intelligence that I own. Along with my vas use of words, with the power and confidence that surpasses that of what I actually feel. Because lets face it, I am shy and while I do stand for somethings, I am not very tall.

And one would not know that by my skin.
My skin will only tell, in the style of todays society, what shades look "best" on me.    And how I'm able to get dark in the blistering heat.

Now I am not saying that one may not acknowledge that I am African American, Indian, Native American, or whatever else the antiquity of my blood has written. I'm saying that, to me, race is a measly  part my identity, it does not classify nor make my future or write my history.
The feats of my ancestors are theirs to own. Sure they are my family and they had gone though hardships, but their struggles were theirs alone.

The right to classify myself, is mine alone.

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Niyalaful

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