chronologically considered an old coot,
yet still able, eager, ready and willing
to put button nose to the grindstone
and prove I got ample smarts,
no matter cognitive malfunction
found me to withhold
asking questions
when lack of understanding
now attests when understanding
did not compute

near pennilessness and destitute
once upon a time
a fraction of three score and seven years
sported a small noggin,
nevertheless amply and endowed
with being hirsute
maybe to compensate
for being blooming quite late -
and never a go getter,
no matter countless opportunities
matriculating and one after another institute
of higher learning essentially
gagged and bound myself
courtesy invisible jute,
who did not set his sites
on earning superlative grades,
nor much to my parents dismay
did not apply nor succeed acquiring
nor maintaining gainful employment
socking away any loot
nor academic plaudits,
and caused teachers
to spend hard earned dollars
to replace one after another,
heavy duty industrial strength markers
after he/she, him/her
scrawled elaborate X's and F's
covering significant assignments
with frightful looking colors
whereat, I crumpled into a heap
tortured courtesy mailer daemons
linkedin to anorexia nervosa
now angered, saddened
at absolute zero effort pursuit
for life and liberty,
and envy those who toot
their figurative horn.

I experience woe
regarding thinning hair of mine
at seven and sixty orbitz,
whereat no male,
nor female pattern baldness prevails
within the paternal or maternal line
and looking at outdated photographs
of one dorky, nerdy, pimply
(nah just kidding
at the last adjective),
a tug of envy
at that diminutive adolescent
sporting a healthy
potential bird's nest
atop his head,
where twittering could be heard
where the deer and antelope play - ha,
yet even now yours truly
still boyish looking husband
at least according to the wife
for approximately
a little more than half
my threescore and seven years
athwart and astride
this oblate spheroid,
plus also experience body dysmorphia
and faintly recall many years ago
(as no longer a player for prime time),
I bid adieu to my washboard abdomen
head of thick hair,
and palm pilot sized gluteus maximus.

The once lovely substantially lush
shoulder length brown and rooted locks
(more fitting as
a mien mean of warlocks),
who sported nonconformity
courtesy a social introverted lad
cast an impression linkedin
with one kid who rocks
the world, yet he
never answered the call
that rarely knocks
more than once,
caused I felt scared shi*tless
and wanted to remain a little boy,
who played with his building blocks.

adieu
from this wordsmith,
who experience his fair share
of a mental bugaboo
and offered the above
as food for thought to chew,
a general character sketch he drew,
yet please no pity I eschew
cause though yours truly 
gifted with smarts,
where within mine complex edifice
grandiose ideas sprung up
linkedin to major elaborate projects
never attaining fruition,
nor witnessed all the light,
we (mainly me) could not see
analogous to Fontainebleau
which extravagant schemas
for a major art project in sixth grade
(about one sixth point seven current age)
assigned courtesy Missus Bowman
forsaken courtesy procrastination
which generated anxiety,
which festered and grew
never exhibiting a cry nor hue,
when then Miss Rinderle
volunteered star students
such as Loretta Kenyon
and I think
(if memory serves correctly
Kimberly Angstadt – 
don't quote me on spelling of her surname)
to "assist" meaning take charge
in lieu
of Matthew
Scott Harris
getting credit, which 
others taking charge did imbue
me with an inferiority complex.