Window shopping often combined

patience, and flipping price tags 

to find 

out what cost too much,

or not enough.

And the identifiers on cleaning products 

had

saved my life on more than one inattentive occasion. 

Without nutrition guides to remind me 

that

my thighs are getting wide behind me,

I'd have ballooned at least a decade ago,

since sugar and I were quite the delicious duo.

But a label that has always irked me,

as though it were meant to hurt me,

was the one that could prevent me,

from potentially meeting a kindred spirit,

simply because they did not fit within the margins of my sexuality.

Never one for restrictions, do not prohibit me unless you'll suffer my performance, labels are for soup cans, so why do I need to be butter basic boring?

Taught to love and see beauty in all of the human race, it seemed much simpler to satisfy my carnal desires with men, than to appropriately court our counterparts for a coveted first date.

So, it stayed this way for quite some time,

as I thought I'd silently assumed a side,

until I realized energy, and chemistry meant more to me than body parts outside.

This internal identity crisis induced panic subsided once I embraced the panoramic; why limit myself to appease the rest, when I could be inclusive of every gem that made me sparkle best?