There are times I read or hear people
Being overly inclusive, void permission
Assuming their experience is the same
As yours or mine, without asking a thing
Calling us- “Survivors” …no- not me
Nope, I refuse such a dishonest label
In part, upon the same moral grounds
Slaves refused a name from a master
Master’s that modified them forever
Something being attached to a being
Not of their making, nor their choice
Its an automatic open door for others
To use like an unexpired show ticket
Seeking to traipse through our ordeal
As if entitled, to interrogate our veracity
And all too often victimize us once again
Only to add to our burden of sensitivities
To strip away what God hadn’t intended
They’re pejoratives, plain and simple
Labels are not informative or definements
Of who the person is, or experienced
To impose such a lifelong obligation
Is not only cruel but humiliating inhuman
Besides, the person was rightfully named
For most, their name of origin, authenticity
Stemming from a bloodline of history
Beyond mere fellowship: but familyship
Something one can chose for themselves
On whether they want or not to take pride in
Not a shackle to be looked down upon
Nor pitied as if marked nonredeemable
And in need of share charitable emotions
Or clinical objectified; endless evaluation
Because some self-serving narcissist
Pontificates they can undo the experiences
Heal you by means of their modern science
Only to compound us with more intrusions
And when they all failed…blame the victim
Poet of the Light © 2019
