Labels: Not For Me

Labels.
Am I sick of the implication of the word, label.
Worn with pride on the lapel
of a no-doubt brand-labelled jacket for all to see,
Something to enlighten me about who I’m to be?
Does it comfort? Excuse? Inspire?
No. It turns a solitary flame of doubt into an all-engorging fire
That rages and burns and then; who’s to blame
when there’s nothing left but cinders and shame?
Labels.
Loner. Dreamer. Commitmentphobe.
Depressed. Anxious. ‘In a mood.’
And my favourite to despise: abnormal.
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