Labels.

They can make you feel like you’re soaring above the clouds,

Surrounded by birds of feather, whom together they flock,

The breeze whisking through your plumage,

Free.

Or…

 

They can shoot you down,

Making you fall-

Fall into a deep, dark hole.

Make you curl into a ball screaming “I don’t know. I don’t know” at the top of your lungs.

No one will hear you.

It’s all your fault.

You are the one who is questioning.

You are the one who has to decide, and until then, you’ll be stuck in psychological torment.

It’s all your fault and no one else’s.

You must conform.

You must find a label for people to define you with, to judge you with.

You crave to be flying once more, but that will never happen until you you find a label.

Nothing fits.

Nothing works for me; it’s just not right.

You must conform.

You.

Must.

Conform.

 

No.

I will find a way out - without finding a label.

Gender is fluid.

Sexuality is fluid.

Humans are fluid.

I’ll find a tunnel - find my own way to the surface.

I’ll be content living on the ground.

If I find a label on my way to happiness, then great, but the label itself is not the ultimate source of joy.

The label itself does not define me.

I will rise above those words, because that is all they are.

Words.

 

Labels can make you soar and feel like you belong,

but when you realise that they are just words,

you realise that what you once thought you needed, becomes a distant memory.

And I am content with that.