Tales Of My Other Selves

I am a little boy.
Whose mother is a whore,
Whose father is an alcoholic,
Whose future is destined to be poor.

I am a widow.
Whose dreams of being a mother are shattered,
Whose life is meaningless now,
Whose heart has been left in tatters.

I am a seductress. 
Whose fantasies are wild,
Whose features are luscious but 
Whose greatest weapon is her smile.

I am an elderly man.
Whose body is old and wrinkled,
Whose sad life is drawing near its end,
Whose eyes are tearful and crinkled.

I am a black man.
I am Chinese.
I am white woman.
I am all in-between races genders and ethnicities.

I am a window pane.
I am a life.
I am death itself.
I am a knife. 

I am the tree, the page the pen 
And also am the ink.
'But how can you be all of those?'
I bet you sit and think.

I am all those that I write of,
And all those I write of are me,
I am all these different beings,
But only through my writing will you see.