Don't you realize*
The label *"cutter" hurts more than the razor
When you sum all of me, him, her, them in one word
It's as though whips of ice squeeze
Insisting you fit in the confines of that label
And I know
It's hard when that's all we know
Everything is labeled so we understand, but I still hate it
I ask you
What did he look like?
black, brown hair, glasses
If he were a white man, you'd describe his eyes and hair before you'd think of mentioning race
It's not your fault (only)
We name the different to get it under our grasp
A snug bottle in which we can keep the errant genie
But even the words I love are just labels