My labels have a voice
They have a name, they have a place within my chest
They have a throbbing beat, a heat, an intensity
Each of them burns behind my ribcage
Perhaps they are the caged bird that sings
But if only I could make the world understand this:
I had a dream that I was a ragdoll and that
My friends unpicked every label sewn into me
And there was nothing underneath.
It wasn't true.