The adhesive on labels never seemed to stick to me.
Unable to have a label, is a blessing if you’re able
To formulate your future state, with a strong conglomerate.
Though things like that, for me? Mental aggravate.
To stand in the cursed middle ground, is great I guess, for the morally unbound.
How does one fly without a solid ground to stand on?
I need not for my legs to become vestigial. A bird born sky high and taught to fly, should not touch the ground to later suddenly die
My domain is undecided. My kingdom is a kerfuffle, a fuzzy phylum, soupy subphylum. A cluttered class. An unorderly order. My family is quite fuddled, Genus? Don’t even think about it, and a species unspecified.
Would not an amphibious creature seem out of place living just in the sea? Not on the ground where it was also made to be?
Some say it’s a virtue, some say it’s a grace. To be untethered in the open air, to be freely floating in space.
Though freedom is my drug, it complicates the mind. With so many choices it limits the mind.
"What do you know?" a lot things "what can you do?" a lot of things.
A place with many objects is a messy room it seems.
Freedom, how sweet, yes; but only in comparison.
I’d just like to be tethered to something as I progress through the stages of Erikson.
The adhesive of labels never stuck to me, as I remain a muddled mess of ambiguous uncertainty.
Some say it’s a blessing. Uniqueness it begets. But you’ll never know the struggle of people asking you what gift to get.