To believe that I am the greatest, a lion among prey,
A leader and speaker in massive crowds–
A fool I am not, for I am all the wiser.
My chest almost explodes as it juts to the heavens.

My valor is inherent, my greatness innate.
I’m the inventor of all things otherworldly,
I can crush cities under the sheer weight of my (very real) leather boots.

But as I stare at the man before me, hair defying gravity,
Skin often comparable to cocoa or other foods,
I am left with only the bite marks of lions,
A throat dry as the Sahara,
My voice collecting dust.

To believe that I am anything but small–
An orchid flourishing in Antarctica–
I am simply a puppet, awaiting its puppeteer.