Tags
Alcoholism, Circumcision, Health, Intact, Intactivism, Joy, Love, Men's Health, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Recovery
I’m glad they had me—
it’s been nice…
But why did they cut me—
Why am I circumcised?
In the first weeks of life:
Sexually abused. Molested—
Strapped to a table,
masturbated and sliced—
Despite my cries…
Despite my cries…
All because of a bible verse that lies—
Masturbated and sliced—
Newborn and hardly alive.
“Then what?” says I, from the
haze that dissipates with every sober hour…
I learned some sports
(while my damaged penis tried to heal).
I learned to drink a flammable
liquid on stolen land.
(“what’s the deal?”)
How could I learn to love?
Shyness when it mattered,
hurt I avoided life’s realities,
even good ones.
I imagined and abused myself,
found my way to pornography
seeking comfort for lost foreskin.
Unprotected, un-lubricated,
Seeking manual stimulation at
the point a normal, intact man
would come, satisfied.
All because the bible lied.