I read a book
Without a title.
It had pages,
And words.
It had a cover,
And a spine.
It told a story
About the black and the white,
About the gay and the straight,
About the Catholic and the Jew.
It told a story
About any man,
About every man,
About all of man.
It told a story
About love,
About fight,
About fear,
And about hope.
It told a story
That didn’t need a heading
That didn’t need a name.
It told a story
About life
Life as a whole
Life without
The stigma,
The bias,
The prejudice.
I read a book
Without a title,
And somewhere between the pages
I realized
Maybe not everything
Was meant to be labeled.