If this title defines who I am to society,

Shouldn't it speak volumes?

It should - 

But fuck society!

I am a proud, closeted pansexual

With a romantic heart and a dirty mind.

The only labels I believe in

Are the ones on the outside

Of my Nike shoe boxes.

Size 8 red and blue Cortez

Because I am an All-American

Free-Spirit with an Armenian temper

And an Irish desire to drink.

I don't go around saying,

"I'm the type of person who . . . "

If you're interested in this mystery,

I'll slowly unfold like a paper map,

And let you decide what direction

We take on this adventure. 

I've been burned before,

So beware of speed bumps. 

But you can unlock my heart

With one simple hug,

Because if you knew how much

I loathe hugs,

You'd save it for the one time

I need it most:

When society fucks back.

Call me a dyke,

A rug-muncher,

Confused,

Call me everything in the book,

Just don't tell me this isn't who I am,

Because if your title of me

Is a definition

Represented by one word,

I'm going to publish a bible

And name it my title.