If, a = 1, b = 1
Then, a = b
a^2 - b^2 = 0, (a-b) (a+b) = 0, (a-b) (a+b)/(a-b) = 0/(a-b)
(a+b) = 0
1 + 1 = 0
2 = 0
two is equal to zero.
Remember when there was still a proof for why 2 is equal to 0?
Once, we were just like the proof, 
after some sort of deep distorted mathematics we ended up being equal.
Equal to each other, equal to ourselves.
Just people with our own narratives, just people with our own algorithms.
But if I can’t place a label on that math equation, why can’t we stop putting labels on people?
…
Then it hit me.
You can’t divide by zero.
Not in math, not here, not in this twisted universe.
a/0 = undefined
…
Mathematicians couldn’t prove that 2=0
We can’t prove that we are all the same, human
Then why, 
Why can you put me into that yellow bucket, 
Put my family into that same bucket,
Slap the matching yellow label on that bucket,
And call it a done deal?
Throw that bucket into the back of some closet,
Close the door, 
And forget about it?
Why can you put my friend into that rainbow bucket,
Put all her friends into that same bucket,
Slap the matching rainbow label on that bucket,
And call it a done deal?
Throw that bucket into the back next to that yellow bucket,
Close the door again,
And forget about it?
Why can you put yourself into one of those buckets you store in your heart,
Slap some label on it,
And bury it inside?
If two things that are different cannot be equal to each other,
Then why can half of us go in the blue bucket and the other half go in the pink?
If two people that are different cannot be equal to each other,
Then why can we be sorted like objects?
If I was 2, and you were 0, nobody gets to draw the equal sign.
Nobody.

…
There isn’t some constant number that we can divide each person by.
There isn’t proof for my story
There isn’t proof for yours
There isn’t proof for everything I fought for, because no written label can be slapped on me.

…
Once upon a time, some person in this world decided to prove 2 is equal to 0.
They indeed did it, 
But they also proved why this world forces us to live oversimplified lies.
I am living in a lie, in a bucket of some color, in a locked closet
We can’t divide by 0, but we can strive to rip those labels apart,
Watch them burn and turn into ashes,
Watch them fade. 
2 = 0 is the beginning of the lie that we tell ourselves.
And it will take everything to burn that lie,
Even then, its ashes will never settle.
We are ready.
We are ready to set everything we know on fire,
And hope that it’s enough to destroy those labels and those lies.
I don’t remember when you and I were treated as just people. 
I want to, 
but I don’t remember.