Label.

A small piece of paper,

Fabric,

Plastic,

Or similar material,

Attached to an object,

And giving information about it.

Label.

What we use to describe everything

In society.

As if we are able

To label each other as objects.

We look at each other as projects .

Some more progressed than others.

But does that make any sense?

Does me telling you I’m black,

Inform you that I am a 15 year old female

Born to the parents of Angelo and Andrea.

That I love to sing,

And I love to write.

I have a little dog,

And a brother and a sister.

That I am Areyana.

See,

You would not have known that

From the simple statement,

That I am black.

You may have thought about the stereotypes

And rumors.

Fake pictures and representations.

Prerequisites and labels.

That have been stuck to the word

“Black”.

I am not an object.

I am not these labels.

I am me.

I have my own culture.

I have my own look.

I have my own name.

I am not my body.

I am not a project.

Nor a color.

Nor a stereotype.

I am Areyana Proctor.

You are not only Native American

Or Latina.

Or Latino.

Or Hispanic.

Or White.

Or Asian.

Or Pacific Islander.

You are you.

You are your dreams and words.

Your thoughts and ideas.

We should not be labels.

Or sticky notes.

Thrown into the trash bin,

With the other “blacks” or “whites”

Do not only look at the color of the skin.

Because that is nothing.

But merely a protective shell.

A covering.

Hiding the essences,

Of our true selves.

And until those coverings are broken

It is impossible to describe somebody.

We must all unite as one.

Because labels do nothing.

Other than describe an object.

And we are NOT objects.

WE are human.