The ******* on your table is blown onto the floor
as you sit down heavily on the leather sofa laced with
plaid cushions your mother knitted for you.

Stripper heels and drug wallets laden your floor and you don't know
exactly why you're always down, or even what you're meant for;
Latex costumes and stripper poles are all you're known for
and you begin to consider it all to be a description
of your worth.