i have no identity

and i crave having no identity

I am nothing. No name, no label, no box to check. No flag to fly. I drift like smoke, shapeless, inhaled and exhaled by a world that needs me to be something, anything, just not this—just not empty. But I am not empty; I am unclaimed. There’s a difference.

People around me seem to anchor themselves to things: careers, relationships, passions, pronouns, i…