Label

I am not a slut. 
I am not a bitch, a cheater, alcoholic, smoker, liar or afraid.
But I fuck and snarl.  I cheat, I drink and I smoke.  I tell lie after lie and I am terrified of them all.
I may spread my legs and lips, my lungs and my heart, wide open on the stage.  Everything is lit up by neon but the bartender only carries house liquor so I don’t need your labels either. 
This bottle, these stories and this turn-over in my bed, the butts in the ashtray and yellowed fingers don’t define the intangible sparks of energy lighting up behind my ribs.  I am more if you might dare to ask.  Then again, what I tell you may not be the truth.