So [IS] it that women all are the same? Or is it [ACTUALLY ME]?

Am

the common denominator 

poor – the

lowest of the low?

A sore on humanity,

perhaps?  

A sore of the very worst fought?

And so do I suffer at the hands of this 

womanhood 

because they all are the 

same as 

prejudice would {prefer to} quite

mad prejudge – or is it, 

mebbe rather more exactly,

because the neighbourhood I make,

and shape

and do

and am,

is as dark

and stark 

and unkindly in its nature

as a man like me

could ever be?

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