An Irreverent Poem

I’ll never offer
My own body
By writings
Or X rays
I’ll never give it
In pieces...
Because its center
Would be sick
At one’s stomach...
I do not
Either show my bowels
Or my body
Since they’re so mine
And my humors
Only would become
Very sweet
If I felt
Something lovely.
I use to shriek with laughter
Whenever I see
Rags asses, breasts and wombs
On display
And presenting themselves
But everyone declines.