Your quartered body, taken from one man’s hands,
is placed into the hands of another, unfamiliar
with the scraps, the crumbs, the remnants of you.
Surprisingly, each of them downplays the oppression.

On your folded body, there is no longer a scar—
after all, no one would want someone pieced together
from the scraps, the crumbs, the remnants of you.
Surprisingly, you can again become their obsession.

On your public profile, there is no more nakedness,
no bare skin, no naked *******, not even bare feelings—
only the scraps, the crumbs, the remnants of you.
Surprisingly, you can even lose your own expression.