The labels I go by hide like words on a moonlit page,
mysterious, but present somewhere,
if I can just angle the page correctly,
is that a Q or a G? An H or a T?
Labels and pronouns mixed in a metaphor of red, blue and green,
A spectrum unspoken,
A soul become unbroken,
and acceptance of labels and none,
For who I am remains unchanged whatever words fall off your tongue,
And who you are remains to me an infinitesimal symbol of humanity.