Violated: A Baby Boy's Point of View

© 2011 Christina King
King serves as Director of Intact Iowa



Born into a cold world, but settled into warm arms.

I snuggle at a nurturing breast and latch on.

Happy and content, I nurse and fall asleep...

Until the people in white coats come in for me.


Someone straps my legs and arms.

What are they doing? I want my mom!

I begin to whimper... Where could she be?

I'm uncomfortable - need to be held. Can't they see?


They strip me down bare. I'm now naked and cold.

I begin to wail. Everything's so out of control.

The doctor reaches toward me. For my mom, I'll be strong.

But his impersonal touch is somewhere private. And, oh, so very wrong.


The pain that soon follows is too much for me to bear.

Why is this happening, Mom? Don't you even care?

When I was first born, you called me perfect - why'd you lie?

Why aren't you here with me? Or comforting while I cry?


There is pulling and yanking and cutting and slicing.

It feels like each cell of my body they're splicing.

I scream until my voice is raw. I cry 'til tears come no more.

Red liquid is pouring from me. Blood. It pools upon the floor.


I hear the doctor say, "The circumcision's a success!"

He tells the nurse to take me back to mom so I may rest.

I don't know what that big word means, but something's surely changed.

I've got a feeling after this my body'll never be the same.


I'm back in Mom's arms again, but no longer are they safe.

She tries to nurse me at her breast, but I no longer want this place.

Circumcision: this horrible procedure that some will still condone...

I should feel safe and secure and loved - but all I feel is alone.


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For prepuce (foreskin), intact care and circumcision information and resources see:
Should I keep my son intact?

"I believe the time has come to acknowledge that the practice of routine circumcision rests on the absurd premise that the only mammal in creation born in the condition that requires immediate surgical correction is the human male." ~Thomas Szasz, M.D.
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