that girl is dressed in black
from her head down to her toe
her name lost in a stereotype
that some may call "emo"
that boy who holds his lovers hand
and smiles as he kisses his lips
is seen as only a single word
homo, gay, faggot just "fits"
that man with the turban round his head
and skin slightly darker than yours
is seen as a terrorist in the eyes of our race
even if that man hates war.
that girl, that boy, that man
some how fit in a category to us
and the labels are sewn like a mask to hide
the true person hidden in the dust
theres a heart beat inside each persons chest
and they breath in the air just as you
but are seen as their own separate species
blending in with those they act simmilar too
we are not shirts, we are not cans of food
we are a personality in ourselves
we are individual people in a place we call home
blur the lines, maybe time will tell