Lose The Labels-Ignorance Is Not Bliss


Allow me to let you in on a not so well-kept secret about me. A personal truth that has grown so critical to me that I can’t keep my mouth shut about it; it’s a deal breaker. I won’t long waste time on someone who can’t refrain from this shitty little habit.

I. Hate. Labels.

I’ve worn them in the past, stuck them onto the backs of others, and agreed with people when they’ve done the same. It’s bullshit. A weak, mindless method, of not having to think for yourself, or differentiate between one human being vs another based on each individual’s merit.

Racist. Criminals. Tight. Terrorists. Lazy. Ignorant. Parasites of society. Selfish. Gay. Crazy. Illegals. Democrat. Republican.

I’m so over hearing that all women are this way, all men are that way, this generation is worthless, this music doesn’t qualify, these beliefs are not just opinion, but fact.

I’m a blonde by choice, and I can assure you, I don’t have more fun, and I’m not a bimbo. I’m female, but I am neither weak and clingy, nor am I a “ball-buster” (although I have played both parts on occasion). I believe that men and woman are of equal importance, without saying we are equal, when I see us as two critical components bearing different gifts to make the world a safe and beautiful place.

I’m also from the midwest bible belt, born and raised. I am not, however, a bible thumping, red-neck, hay seed, back woods dumb ass without a clue of what goes on in the world around me. I don’t care what color my friends are, who they pray to, who they want to marry or have sex with, or what they do for a living. I love them for their hearts, and expect them to offer me the same in return.

I don’t care if you choose to have sex with 10 people at once, and I don’t expect you to care if I choose not to. I don’t judge you if you’re covered in tattoos and wouldn’t expect you to care that I’m not. You may judge me for my white bread, vanilla flavored appearance, but you don’t know my heart or mind, so your assumptions are flawed, endless and clueless.

I keep an open mind, and an open heart, and if you can’t see past what I look like, or dress like, or my accent or my lack of street cred, then for god’s sake pass on by and I promise you, I’ll be the better for it. I have friends all over the world whom I love dearly, and some of the shit I hear spouting from the uneducated and unaware just chaps my ass. Yes, I just said that.

Before you mock me, or anyone else, I suggest you find what it is in you that needs to feel wise and all-knowing.

In many ways, I’ve lived a sheltered life. Go ahead and hold your breath if you expect me to apologize for that. I freely admit I have by no means tried everything I’ve heard around me. Some I will, some I won’t, some I haven’t decided yet. Leave it to me, because your opinion doesn’t count here.

It is a harsh thing to hear someone’s opinion on your life when they have no clue what you’ve put yourself through to make someone happy, to make a relationship work, to give someone everything they say they want…and it isn’t enough. It’s a shame you don’t know the damage you do to a heart that has taken responsibility for itself and made every effort to fix and build on something that turns out to be quicksand. It’s a sad thing to know that someone has blinded themselves to the potential of you with their own asinine conclusions of what must be true according to them.

I may embarrass easily, or get flustered, or not know the latest terminology for fuck you sideways according to the Urban dictionary. If that’s what it takes to impress you…then fuck you. Look that up.

So this is what you can take from this. I hate labels. I won’t wear them. I won’t use them. I’ve got a pile of them growing, and a match to burn whatever bridges necessary using them as tinder.

Get a clue. Get over yourself. Let the rest of us be who we are without drilling us with your ignorance.

Labels suck. Lose them. Please.

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