Some time ago, I would participate in a poetry contest which centered on the topic of male infant circumcision. The contest encouraged participants to write out their own original poetry, and even to parody other works, including poetry, songs etc. I found it therapeutic, in a way, to write out my feelings. I'm going to start publishing what came of that poetry contest on here.
The first poem I ever wrote was this.
A lot of people don't give too much thought, or seem to forget the fact that in most cases, circumcision happens to a newborn baby boy. They fast-forward several years later and say "See? Most men don't remember it and they're fine. See? They're OK. They get over it."
It's almost as if they're admitting that what has happened is wrong.
Why else would a person need to "get over it?"
As humans we must overcome all kinds of things. All victims of all forms of abuse, be it verbal, physical or sexual, must find some way to cope. With the right therapy, anyone can become a well-adjusted survivor. We've got to; we can't stay in the same place for ever. We've all got to move on.
I wrote the following not because I feel bad for older men, but because I feel bad for the newborn baby boys who have just come into the world.
When it comes down to it, the number one thing I feel is wrong with male infant circumcision is that it is the violation of the most precious of basic human rights of a healthy, non-consenting baby boy, at his most fragile, most vulnerable state, in most private, most intimate part of his body, his being, his identity as a human male.
I wrote this to express not only the sorrow and the helplessness of not being able to do anything to stop what's going on, but also the hope that through activism, through bringing awareness to this issue, one day this practice will end.
The resilience of the human spirit is no excuse to abuse and mutilate a child.
At the end of the day, abuse is still abuse, and wrong is still wrong.
Poor Little Guy
Hey little boy what happened to you,
Looks like someone took a knife and mutilated you…
Your poor little wound is still purple and fresh,
Who could do such a thing to a baby’s flesh?
Poor little guy…
Were you offered up, or were you stolen away,
From your mother’s side by which you peacefully lay?
Did they spread you open did they tie you down,
Did the man that hurt you wear a mask and gown?
Poor little guy…
Did he care you screamed and did he care you bled,
As you struggled strapped to the restraining bed?
Were you wishing you could end your new-born life,
As you felt the cold sear from a steely knife?
Poor little guy…
What did you feel when your screams weren’t heard,
That your parents stood by and didn’t say a word?
Were they even present, could they even hear,
Their little boy’s screams or see his falling tears?
Poor little guy…
Did the doctor tell them, did they even know,
The unspeakable pain through which you had to go?
Was it something your parents had to decide,
Or did the doctor fill their heads with baseless lies?
Poor little guy…
Pity whether these lies were true or not,
A man can’t decide to have what he’s got,
When your parents were thinking of their little son,
They neglected the man that he would become…
Poor little guy…
I know when you’re older you probably won’t mind,
But what they did to your body is still unkind.
That you won’t remember doesn’t make it right,
It can’t be defended under any light…
Poor little guy…
Sadly, you are not alone in your pain.
Every day boys must suffer again and again.
I fervently pray it’s a dying trend,
To maim little babies; that this madness ends.
Poor little guy.
Edit 7/16/2018:
I totally forgot to say that the inspiration for this poem was the lyrics to the Bruce Springsteen song "I'm on fire."
I want readers to read the lyrics. I wonder if there is some sort of connection, some unintended connection back to day one...
I'm On Fire
Bruce Springsteen
Hey little girl, is your daddy home?
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
I got a bad desire
Oh, oh, oh
I'm on fire
Tell me now baby, is he good to you?
Can he do to you the things that I do?
Oh no, I can take you higher
Oh, oh, oh
I'm on fire
Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull
And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my soul
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the middle of my head
Only you can cool my desire
Oh, oh, oh
I'm on fire
Oh, oh, oh
I'm on fire
Oh, oh, oh
I'm on fire
Why is he eyeing a little girl and wondering if her daddy is home?
Why a six-inch valley? With a knife through the MIDDLE OF HIS SOUL?
(Where is the locus of a man's soul?)
Who did it?
Yes, I know the intentions of this song are more along the lines of the insatiable lust a man might have for a woman he likes.
And yet I wonder if the words of this song are somehow a Freudian slip...
They say that first cut cuts the deepest.
