Image: Pixabay

Label, a human conception
Originates from the urge of belonging
And stays deep rooted to the point
The human becomes the label itself,
And forgets its true form.

A finger pointing at the moon
Is always a finger, never the moon.

You despise me, because I’m some label
Does it matter, what label am I?
If I love you, because you’re some label
Therefore, I love you, the label,
I do not love you, the human.

This facade that we live with
Is a wildly primordial farce.
Stripped off our tags and our names,
We’re manufactured but the same.