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Personal Vicissitudes Pronounced Irrepressible Self Loathing
Personal vicissitudes pronounced irrepressible self loathing Ever since mine late boyhood when unstoppable coded cellular processes did segue I experienced abhorrence toward yours truly, an extremely introverted kid, whose parents nor siblings (one younger and older sister) could not arouse him out of his emotional torpor (even enlisting powers of druid) akin being on par with Peter Peter pumpkin eater..., whereby he (meaning author who crafts this poem) kept himself isolated, quarantined, and xed out within self made certifiable, formidable, impermeable, lockable, and objectionable shell. Me mum mollycoddled her only son bathed him in maternal love omnipotent motherliness figuratively guillotined (unwittingly) healthy maturation, thus development sabotaged courtesy figurative apron strings. No matter his filial relationship woeful after attaining emerging adulthood (to thee woman who birthed him), he registered sentimental value regarding keepsakes bequeathed courtesy said maternal parent, he still keeps cherished mementoes redolent when she lived. Call him a mama's happy go lucky boy, whose later ambivalent feelings tarnished, undermined and vitiated short lived tender loving care, which inherent human bondage briefly vouchsafed, linkedin, and cocooned wellbeing regarding idyllic, kinetic, and opportunistic rapport between parents, got staind, suppurated, sundered, sullied... in later years by incrimination against being a long haired pencil neck geek gainfully unemployed. February twenty eighth ninety sixty eight marked a tectonic seismic shift as moving vans transported our household freight to (at that time) R(ural) D(elivery) 2, Level Road Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426, a sprawling (summer) mansion (pleasantly sounding estate named Glen Elm), plus included whittled down fraction of original Hundred Acre plus wood. Though relocation to above mentioned domicile (from Lantern Lane in Audubon) within Lower Providence School District, approximately half dozen mile distance between former and latter home(s), nevertheless psyche of mine (property of extremely introverted kid) severely hijacked to Cuba. Invisible to the naked eye traumatization (courtesy chastising and reproaching - by fellow classmates nsync with anorexia nervosa, and later in life dealt hefty figurative jab courtesy birth parents and inlaws) tremendously impacted yours truly analogous to him having moved bajillion miles away compounded by his withdrawn demeanor diagnosed when present youthful looking sexagenarian reached middle adulthood (approximately midway present age) as schizoid personality disorder, thus exhibiting, jump/kick starting and promoting obvious developmental delay bullied courtesy nasty not so shortish brutes, who scapegoated and rejoiced with hip hip hurray, meanwhile I experienced terrible psychological melee escaping to safe confines of bedroom, where I wanted to stay for mine remaining years of life. Retrospective review, now approaching my doddering old age finds me beating hasty retreat searching for fountain of youth over yonder near Lost Horizon I gauge constituted more'n one cruel (cheap) trick played on super tramping urchin, who traipsed across virtual global stage ensnared within webbed wide world ofttimes spends hard earned itty bitty social security disability wage purchasing mega million or powerball tickets subsequently building connubial and proverbial castles in the air incorrigible lottery dreamer erects big plans to relocate self and spouse to some tropical island paradise by the dashboard light (the above line credited to late musician named Meatloaf), where pristine landscape bubbles cold mountain spring water and blue skies crystal clear edenic haven closest place to heaven I lovingly, happily, and effusively declare.
Copyright © 2024 Matthew Harris. All Rights Reserved

Book: Shattered Sighs