Can I not not be a product of everything that has led up to this moment right now?

“Things” that I have never seen, never heard, never done.

It was never me. It never was.

Can I not be who I am without the labels, without the limitations?

Can I not be defined by having no definitions?

Am I so obscure that the only proof of my existence are these here words now?

I want no part in your inclusion of everything.

Nor do I desire your exclusion of anything.

I do not celebrate the simplicity of plasticity.

I do not humble myself with heapfulls of masochisms.

As a great mind once said:

“I yam what I yam, and that’s all what I yam.”