The box

Stop strangling me. Suffocating me. Let me be whatever I am. I can not fit in your box: it is too small. I cannot be labeled: I am far too slick. 

Let me be whatever I am.

 I am honestly neither male nor female, innocent or vile. I am just ragged, cherished tapestry hanging unabashedly on the masters Great Wall. He put me there knowing that I was torn and broken, mostly because of your carelessness. He knew that I was worn and battered yet he chose to put me on display. He saw that my edges were frayed and splayed like the last bit of neves that I hold in my possession. He knew that I was a frantic display of rainbow threads strewn across blackness, deep and undulating with feverish color.

 There is no one like me. 

Not one thing. 

I haven't an order, family, genus, or species where I belong and I am ok with that. So please, just let me be. If I am good enough to grace the masters wall, why on earth would you not?