A dreadful look upon his face,

and I begin to feel embrace

of power, entity and strength

over his petty body's length.

My hand transforms into a fist, 

the comforting, faithful assist,

with which my might and fervor show 

with every tear that my hand blows.

He trembles and lets out a cry;

a weak and worthless shriek, so dry

that others watching start to laugh,

as I endure my grateful wrath.

He mumbles, “Stop; I did no harm”

before I raise my forceful arm.

But I don't stop, don't yield to his plea,

just as my dad had done to me.