Best Labels Poems
I could wrap you
In secret
And cling
Like double-sided
Just to keep
Your gift
From prying eyes
But I have
No label
A name, perhaps
But no concept
No complete picture
For the pieces
Of you
Labels
Are for things.
Boundaries.
Pigeon holes.
For just a
Moment
In the journey
We remove them
On arrival
Or when they are
Dog-eared
Or when they are wrong
Or at least
We should
I don't want
To label
You.
Me.
Or
Anyone
Unless
That label..
Reads as follows:
"Seen"
"Found"
"Friend"
"Unique"
"BeLoved"
"Beautiful"
"Accepted"
"Treasured"
"Marvellous"
"Just perfect"
"No changes required"
"If lost, please return home"
You tell me that my love is not real
You tell me that my love needs to be more concrete
More box that I should fit into
More small manageable pieces
That are easier to swallow
But I can't just do that
When explaining my sexual orientation
It is so easy to say not straight
Not straight is easy to understand
Not straight is just the opposite of straight
But not straight
Does not feel right
Because sexuality is so much more
Than male and female
Gay and straight
It may be hard to understand
But some people don't fit into those labels
Some people reject labels
Labels are meant to be on boxes and not people anyway
I am not a box
I am not some pretty little package
That you can just name and make it so
I am a kaleidoscope
A brightly colored mosaic
Changing with each twist and turn
I am a beautiful cascade of emotion
Rushing over the cliff of hate
To wash away all the bigotry
I am a fire
Raging with a passion to share with the world
I am pansexual
I love all people
No that does not make me a ****
No that does not mean I will date anyone
What it does mean is that I will give you a chance
I will see how we can coexist
I will show you the love that we all deserve
Not as male or female
Or gay and straight
But as human beings
Victor or victim
Survivor or miserable wraith
All those labels, I have to prove something.
Feeling horrible is a sin,
Having survived hell is something to be proud of?
Let me tell you something
As a small child I was abducted
I survived the road to hell; hell itself, and back again
This left my body broken
And my mind shattered
Let me ask you something
Are you more empathetic when I smile and shrug
And say: hey! This is me and I love my wheelchair
Or when I tell you I struggle every day?
The answer is not that simple
Yes, I am a survivor
But it’s not an accomplishment
It is just a status report: I survived
Am I a victor? Yes I am. I won, you see?
I still live, and put some of them in prison.
goth on the rocks
around the watering hole
the black sheep flock
7/10/2019
she reaches behind the smokescreen
of her sunken eyed curtain veils
films of tears void of translucence
stoke reminiscent ashes that trace
another blinding thick-skinned defeat
hidden by camouflage and smears
touched up campaigns of bravery
her retinas a web of hallucinations
illusion delusion cataracts and dreams
stirred but not entirely shaken as
she reaches for another glass to empty
while numbness mixes with mirages
of victory over hits and misses
on battle lines of reconstruction
a palisade and shield from truth
her sentience slips into severance
from memories epiphanies and falls
from grace as she applauds the circus clown
and crazy court jester she became to be
in sadness badness insanity while
holding on to fragmented shards
screeching on the palette of many
a brush with fate curses and agony
she is a survivor of abuse and violence
exploitation and deliberate transgressions
and reaches deeply into her resolve
to allocate anger to where it belongs
instead of blaming her own kindness
she lifts the olive branch closer
to her tumbler spits out the hemlock
and trusts that tears will dry
once excoriations have dried up
until then she is not the drunkard
she is made out to be by sycophants
and hypocrites who spiked her
drink of life but merely coping
for the moment and longing for solutions
29th July 2021
Labels, 2010
V. Ortiz Vazquez
Girl, teenager, young adult, woman
Hispanic, Latina, Puerto Rican
Sister, aunt, godmother
Lesbian, woman of color
How important are these labels?
Why use them to define myself?
Better, use to be boxed within brackets
Brackets many times use to oppress me and those a like
Box me
Reduce at time, close to nothingness
Trap within groups
Recycling stereotypes, unfairness
Idiotic
Other times, forgotten
I am a woman
A Puerto Rican woman that is
I am a daughter
A Puerto Rican daughter, know this
Born to privileges that do not really exist
I am a Puerto Rican woman who loves another woman
Rights denied
Ignorance still prevail in 2010
I am brown skinned
How important is this? I don’t know, Do you?
Yet, I will not trade the following:
Daughter, aunt, godmother, woman of color, Puerto Rican
They provide an experience taken for granted by many
At times an understanding that others dream off
A strength given, passed down
Not forced or taken
I am the labels you love to hate
I am the labels you hate to love
Oh flesh of many colors,
brothers all are we,
placing the Holy Spirit
above us on our knees.
No matter what we’re labeled
by those who sell a grace,
when names and slogans start to fly,
be calm and hold your place.
A yearning, kindly human heart
is only satisfied
through service to our Father,
not willful selfish pride.
Attitudes need adjustment
for loving, patient deeds:
objective understanding
not subjective, deceiving creed.
Oh flesh of many colors,
sisters all are we.
Beyond the ego, church, and flag,
the truth becomes a plea.
When buying milk and bread I almost dropped dead
Because when I looked at the labels they read
The bread may contain wheat
And topping that feat
Was that the milk may contain milk, so it said
Only if I allow you-how to find the answer
we must enter a trance first.
Run backwards in circles and sing that one song and dance.
That they speak of through speakers that pierce through virgin ears.
You are sure you know who you personally refer to as them.
He is me and you are him.
Together we form the Ironic 3.
Why not?
So it is and so it shall be.
So we shall from this point forward be known as Ironic Inc.
I like that name better…
If a copywriter is pending or already taken,
with the powers of the We; they are going two--willingly…
Hand it over…
In my dreams I sleep so I'm subconscious
I might not remember.
Sometimes my dreams last from late May to early September.
Tall tells of tall fellows and larger than life animals.
Too big for the people, these characters are almost unbelievable.
We the Ironic Zinc, (thanks auto correct) we are now the Ironic Zinc.
We are the real deal without limitations that hold us complacent.
We simply just don't live in that part of the country enough, suitable for basements.
Just trying to get by we scrap to pay rent.
Some of us even live in a tent.
Others are left to wander without shelter, to where ever is desirable to their particulate-clever…?
-Ironic Zinc 4-5-15
are given early...
not permanent less we latch
onto like breast milk
You don't know me or the life I lead.
But you make up these name's to call me.
My hair dyed pink and my jeans tight;
You look at me with discontent and hateful spite.
I don't wear American Eagle or those Ugg boots,
but that doesn't give you the right to give me dirty looks.
My body's tattooed and my music taste is weird
You can have your opinion on me:but I'll make this clear...
I am me, labels can't describe the way I live.
Labels can't tell my story,or what I can give.
People are simple and must label to understand;
and this is a message to end this plan.
Emo, Prep, Punk, Jock, Scene: this are just words.
People are living things and you can't label the world.
Would that we stamp these words
On foreheads, as soon as an infant slides
Through the open birth canal:
White privileged
Underprivileged
Poor
Rich
Thug
Fat
Terrorist
Hater
Lover
Etcetera etcetera
O how innocent, and pure
A sweet baby!
God has only labeled us:
Loved!
When the world is churning in cyclonic fashion,
When earthquakes threaten to tear us apart,
Can we grab each other’s hands, and pull
Them from the devilish hole?
Who are our friends? Even their silent voice,
Would raise an octave to kill
The prejudice and hate spewing
From all sides.
When we are blessed enough,
That God stretches us out,
To give us a family and friends -
From many rich heritages
And colors,
That we might feel!
I also hurt when you pinch me -
It leaves a horrendous bruise.
The world spreads
Its media butter on bread,
And tries to disengage our hands.
But my loved ones, my friends
I won’t let go, I love you so!
Labels that lead to hate…will only pain impart…
they will never bring us together…only push us further and further apart.
When we are consumed by the labels we place on one another it becomes more difficult…more bizarre to see each other clearly…to understand who we truly are.
When all we see is a person’s color, race, sex, religion…the gender they know they were born to be…the person underneath the label…we are never blessed to see.
Because the label we assign to a person…is only one piece of the puzzle…one part
and when all we see is that label…we never see inside their heart.
Through politics and prejudice our tendency to abuse these labels has gotten worse…and worse…and worse…and before it becomes more pervasive…more damaging…more perverse…
I direct your attention to a man whose philosophy was taught to him by the mountains, the rivers and the birds….
Perhaps now is the time to listen to John Muir…time to heed his words.
Words he wrote while walking with nature…which once read and thoroughly dissected have a deeper meaning for us today than, I imagine, even he expected.
“When we try to pick out anything by itself.” He wrote, “we find it hitched to everything in the universe. Simple words if heeded could help our hatred and prejudice reverse.
I wonder when he made this revelation…perhaps seated by a stream…
if the creators at the moment…didn’t share with him their dream…
How every humans, every animal, every river…every tree
are meant to live together…in balance and harmony…
How it is possible to separate ourselves by hate…how for a while some may thrive…
but in the long run how we are all connected…and how we need each other to survive.
Don’t label me,
I’m not a freak
I’m not an anorexic that doesn’t eat
I’m not a “Lesbo”
I’m not a ****
I’m not an emo girl that cuts and cuts
I’m not a prep
I’m not a Goth
But please don’t go thinking I’m soft
I’m not a geek,
I don’t attention seek
So, what if I’m black?
I don’t do crack
I’m just me
And that’s all I’ll ever be
Don’t like it?
You’ll be working for me one day,
You just wait and see.
Please tell me why it's meaningless,
When a woman is assaulted.
Is it because somehow she must'v asked for it,
Why is she the one who's faulted?
Why, is it more believable,
When a man says it isn't true?
Even when his friends know,
It's something he would do.
He gets to walk around unlabeled.
While we pay for therapy.
His life, never really changed.
It must be nice, to be granted that luxury.
And why are we the ones made to live in fear,
While their women fight venomously, by their side.
As if that somehow confirms nothing ever happened.
But I'm not the one, with something to hide.