There’s a photograph in the album where my mom holds me close to her heart. That’s the day when I was born, assigned a name, a religion and a label to carry around.
But the label changes every time, with a new face and a new place adding up in my life. For some I am the sweet girl who smiles at everyone, for some I am a cold-hearted person with no care for the world.
May be I am none or all, but I am who I choose to be, I am who I long to be. May be I am wrongly labelled.
One day, I could be a muse to someone’s poetry, one day I could be the words to their story. They look for answers inside me, but still they label me.
They say they love me for who I am, but I wonder who I am. Someday I am an answer to all their question, and someday I am the question that is never solved. May be I am none or all, but I am who I chose to be, I am who I long to be. May be I am wrongly labelled.
I wish I could play by my own rules, I wish I could be unlabelled. I wish my soul was see through, and someone would see me beyond all these tags and labels.
One day someone could free me from the chains and the saws that gives me the cuts, the cuts that define who I am. But who am I is the question, may be I am everything or nothing at all.
These question would have different answers every time you pass me, my tombstone would also be labelled with no meaning to it. Even when I chose to be me, I will always be wrongly labelled, yes, I am wrongly labelled..