All the things I feel an odd pressure to lead with

There are true things I should say but I don’t

And though I wish I would, I doubt I could so I won’t

It’s not that I can’t put the words into speech

But these truths feel too clumsy to pry open my teeth

Still, there are things I’d like others to know

Because I’m different than what my stereotypes show

And some of what people assume from my look

Is like glimpsing the cover to judge a whole book

So… what if all those pages inside

Were permanent-inked right onto my hide?

First I’d want people to know that I’m not mad at them or perpetually pissed

I’m just proof that men with resting bitch face exist

I’d also tell folks asking physical help of the risk

You cannot see the hernia or my torn disc

And while I wear ragged work boots and a beard

I don’t give a single damn about sports, cars, or beer

And the women who learn I’m a single man on my own

I wish they would stop assuming that I’m down to bone

I suppose I should prolly also declare:

My scalp’s not political, I just lost lots of hair

And though I am straight, male, and white

I know my cohorts are cowards if they oppose DEI

…

Now enough about me that’s a good enough gist

I’d like my last tatted truth to be: billionaires should never exist