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