Where is boyhood lost I wonder
And why must the sweetness there get lost
Swimming in a masculine parade
Of shades of rage
Does he know at 9 years old
That somewhere between 10 and 11
He must pretend
He doesn’t want to be held?
Looks from elders who were shoved  
Tell him to be rough
To give up girly stuff
To get big and buff
To be quiet and tough
To call girls *****
To disdain getting cuffed
To maintain
an illusion he doesn’t need love
Sameness painted across generations
Taking its toll
While sleeping giants get old

So let him be soft
Whimsical
Effervescent
Delicate

What is it like to be a man, I don’t know.
Ask him.
Does he know?
Is it cramped?
cold and hard?
Is it full and bold and large.
I hope
I hope
It’s a bit of it all of it
I hope
Every angle gets explored
And every piece gets adored
And that boyhood softens
Rough knuckles