Dirty, Pothead, Hippy

---

Do not call me a Democrat.

I am not blue. I am white. Pale, actually.

Borderline translucent.

Oh, and freckles. Lots of ‘em.

And I guess sometimes, a pinkish red?

Because: sunburn.

Do not call me liberal.

I simply read. A lot.

Currently reading: the history of humankind.

As in: Homo Sapiens 2.5 million years ago to now.

(Spoiler alert: we suck.)

Recently read: the GOP Platform Packet, Title IX, Title X, Fair Pay and Safe Workplaces, and the Trans Military Ban Memorandum.

Point being:

I read The Thing, you guys —

not “a thing” about The Thing.

I read The Thing.

As in: First-hand observation.

Aka: NOT second-hand opinion.

Do not call me radical.

I have empathy. My mom is a nurse. And my dad made sure airplanes didn’t crash into each other. Both of them worked to keep people safe and alive.

This all to say:

I have parents who raised me

to care about other people.

And please,

for the sake of my dwindling sanity

and all things good:

Do not call me a socialist.

I’m the youngest of 8.

“It takes a village” was a life experience.

“Strength in numbers” is self-evident.

These are facts. Hence why we have: nannies, farmers, doctors, plumbers, chemists, architects, barbers, nurses, air traffic controllers..... (you get it).

Point being:

We cannot do it all by ourselves.

We cannot know it all alone.

We simply survive better, together.

(How the hell do you think we went from 5th on our food chain to 1st?)

So do not call me left nor right.

I stand straight. Well, sorta, I guess.

I have bad posture, okay? And honestly,

I’m mostly horizontal..

Because: sleep. I love sleep.

And, generally speaking,

I look forward. As in: I don’t look back.

Because repeating the same shit and expecting different results is insane.

(And that’s from Albert Einstein, people.)

So.

In conclusion.

If you want to call me:

pale,

well-read,

empathetic,

and sleepy,

go for it.

Because all of those things

are adjectives that describe me.

Not labels that define me.

I never asked

to be put

into your tiny little boxes.

So stop trying to put me in one.

Oh,

and here’s me with a cannibis plant.

Or am I a dirty, pothead, hippy now, too?