Ungenre'd

Ungenre'd
They judge me by the tag,
not the story I drag.
Call me Gen Z
like that explains every scar in my bag.
Call me anxious
like the feeling has no reason or root.
Call me quiet
like silence is a crime
and not a survival suit.

They look at my birth year
before they look at my eyes.
They read my zodiac
before they read my life.
“You’re this sign? Oh, that’s why.”
Nah.
I’m not a horoscope you can summarize.

They see gender
and think they know my strength.
See skin
and think they know my story’s length.
See diagnosis
and think they know my whole personality.
But labels are just lazy ways
to avoid reality.

Nobody bothers to ask where I’ve been,
what I’ve lived,
what I’ve carried,
what I’ve buried
just to stand here again.

Stop seeing humans as labels,
start seeing humans as lives.
I’m not a box you can check,
I’m not a category that fits right.
Before the zodiac,
before the gender,
before the generation you attack—
there’s a whole past
you never asked about.

See the human,
not the label.
See the story,
not the stereotype.

People see tattoos
and assume rebellion.
See clothes
and assume intention.
See accent
and assume intelligence.
See silence
and assume arrogance.
See tears
and assume weakness.
See anger
and assume madness.

But nobody asks,
“What happened?
What shaped you?
What broke you?
What saved you?”

You think you know me
‘cause you know my label?
My “generation”?
My “sign”?
My “vibe”?
But you don’t know the nights
I held myself alive.

You don’t know the home I grew in,
the storms I walked through,
the people who raised me
or failed to.

You see what’s easy to judge
and ignore what’s hard to understand.
You read the surface
and pretend you know the land.

Humans aren’t headlines.
We’re not trends.
We’re not categories.