If you thought that I was an emaciated, syphalitic preteen Vietnamese prostitute
This poem would make no sense to you.
Or if you thought that I was a balding, polo-shirted white man
You wouldn't get it.
And if you thought I was an obese chain-smoking lesbian ex-nun
You would be closer, but it would pass you by.
But if you thought that I was a shrivelled old black woman with too much money and a pocket-full of hate
Then, honey, you'd be right on.