My poem

This is a provincial province:
Brassy brass, tinny tin,
Womanly women, dressy dresses,
Hearty hearts, skinny skin;
Winey wine, watery water,
Earthy earth, stony stone,
Fruity fruit, flowery flowers,
Fleshy flesh, bony bone;
Soupy soup, sugary sugar,
Fishy fish, beery beer;
Glassy glass, leathery leather,
Smelly smells and hairy hair.

The point of all this double Dutch?
Why do we hate ourselves so much?