Every boy is small with so much inside,
but he wants more. He wants to be like dad.
He cannot wait to be powerful and
big. Until then he will play at greatness.
Then he will be between boy and man, his
eyes on girls. He will want his hands there too.
But he will have to satisfy himself,
making his smallness grow with his own touch.
Then fully a man, probably still not
satisfied with his smallness – the organ
that hangs and his place in the world – he finds
he must search for something more. He finds love
and learns the smallness he can plant in his
love will grow and he can have the greatest.
* * * * *
This poem is a sonnet written in response to the about being small prompt at Big Tent Poetry.