^{by A. Gagliardi}

There’s no racial tiara grazing my forehead. I wear no ethnic epitaph on my sleeve; there’s no pressed-down-upon weighing heavy on me. Rastafarian dreads don’t hang off the edge of my bed. I haven’t proclaimed my political choice on my shirtfront or my car’s butt. There’s no religious fervor I must share with every person I meet.  My FaceBook profile shouts no veneer  - nothing, really to keep you there.  I don’t have my own website with witty repartee, volumes of photos and links to the various causes I need to share.  I won’t advertise myself like some freaking billboard.  I don’t have the need to open my mouth sideways and vomit the spillage of my life. It’s unnecessary to provide you with a convenient handle so you can contain  who I am in a suitcase rendition of myself and set me safely in the closet.  I don’t want you to say, ‘you’re one of them” and look at me with that tone, like you have me figured out and can feel confident in yourself again. I’m the elephant and you’re the blind ten  thinking you got me pegged because of your Braille survey.