Label

Is that all I am?
A label?
They call me what they see me.
But naming me doesn’t free me.
It locks me down in a cage,
Of which I can’t escape.
I can’t fit in to their perfect world,
By them, I’m twisted out of shape.

I’m not a jar,
To be slapped on a shelf.
I am not to be called something that isn’t my name.
I’m not alone in the world but I am in my world,
Just because I have a will, a personality I’m a shame.

And still they stare and still they glare.
My beliefs, my looks, my background, my actions.
They have no purpose.

They’re insecure. They wear a mask.
Jewel encrusted, pure gold.
The mask is shaped with a sneer.
I ripped my mask off years ago.

When God is looking they’re His angels,
When he’s looking elsewhere they’re Satan’s devils.
When God is looking He sees me fighting back,
Refusing to be one of the Angels.
But I won’t. I will be me.

I’m tainted flesh, but purer then any of them,
Because I have the will to be free.
But I’m labelled.
I’m called what is not my name.

I’m not a jar full of spice or jam,
To be slapped on a shelf and be called something that isn’t my name.
I’m not alone in this world but I am in their world,
Just because I have a personality I’m a shame.

The paint is rubbing off their mask,
Showing the bronze beneath.
The jewels are falling out,
No longer will the mask be the sheath.

The mask will break.
And I will watch.
And I will laugh.
They will be the labels.
They will not be redeemed.

Watch me laugh.
They are not labels.
They deserve not to have names.

I will be a label.
But I will not be a jar full of spice or jam,
To be slapped on a shelf and be called something that isn’t my name.
I will not alone in this world or their world,
They are alone. They’re the shame.

I’m not a jar full of spice or jam,
To be slapped on a shelf and be called something that isn’t my name.
I’m not alone in this world but I am in their world,
Just because I have a personality I’m a shame.

I’m not a label. I’m not an Angel. I’m not a mask. I’m me.