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Two years ago I lived in ignorance, One year ago I was confounded and enlightened, Now I am on the periphery of dissolution. Does love exist? Does hate exist? Do I truely exist? If something is labeled, does it assume that livid existence? Does it conform to certian criteria? "A rose by any other name . . . . would smell just as sweet." If something is labeled, does it lose its personal worth? If I am labeled, do I become that label? Do I assume that existence? Can a virgin be a whore? Can I negate myself? Can I dispute my labels? If I were not me in this matrix, If I were to grow among the wild unknown, would I label the world around me? How would I label myself? Would I still be asking these stupid questions? I am the virgin; I am a stranger to many a situations. I am the whore; I am the familiar to many darkly shaded gentlemen. I can not dispute all my labels, I will not, For I am those labels and I am many more. |