There was a girl. She had a name. Rose Lip. She had short hair, and a cute nose. Or long hair and an ugly nose.She had the brightest eyes, or the dullest. They were blue, they were green, they were gold, they were brown. She was African. She was American. She was Japanese. But ethnicity doesn’t matter, just what she was. She is her, just as you are them. She was short, she was tall. She was black, she was white. Or she was in between. Who can say? After all, Rose lives there, or over there. She knows no one, but everyone. Who is she? Or more, what is she? Or even more so, what are you? Who are they to ask such questions? Who are you to ask them? To know who Rose is, ask her! Not me! What she was, and what she is will always be the same. None of her classifiers matter. Who am I to call her Rose Lip?