Incomplete metamorphosis to manhood

Once upon a time, this obstinate beastie boy
(i.e. yours truly, or none other than me)
fought tooth and nail,
(hence the reason I wear dentures)
against maturation, and sought
self starvation as modus operandi.

Adept at balking,
plus delaying, stunting and thwarting
transitioning toward adulthood
(mine spindle shank legs
to show and tell as proof positive),
yours truly fell short

(and stymied physical growth
regarding lame rascal
with size nine little feet to boot)
never to attain requisite
emotional, financial,
and spiritual independence.

When mysterious processes
courtesy puberty foisted
one garden state variety
(think generic) Homo sapiens
transformed puny young slip of a lad

into adolescent long haired
pencil necked geek,
the genetic blueprint
already sabotaged prospect
for musculoskeletal framework
to attain maximum potential.

As an extremely shy,
(nay socially withdrawn prepubescent person)
strong aversion awoke toward segueing
from docile average non prodigal son
into grownup with
attendant responsibilities thereof.

Fast forward decades later
namely July fourteenth two thousand twenty,
when self condemnation
laments forsaking positive growth processes
(ordinary run of the mill bodily changes)
indeed nsync with linkedin social development.

Matthew Scott Harris deprived himself
relishing, savoring, and tasting
chromosomal biologic metamorphosis
including wreaking havoc, nixing, and
foregoing heterosexual interpersonal experiences,
thus sparking woeful regret

disallowing, disenabling, and not providing
natural encoded healthy growth
of body, mind, and spirit triage
regarding fluke of universe i.e. me
(since origin of aforementioned species)
took center stage tentatively
bivouacking upon globe.

Much ado about nothing
can be done measure for measure
missing out out love's labour's lost
nevertheless, all's well
doth (did) not end well
concerning (by dickens)
my life and hard times,
which cannot square miserable
with great expectations never attained

courtesy wretched soul,
scratching our feeble existence,
who gives the antagonist and/or protagonist
constituting Les Misérables,
a run (for his) la monnaie,
eeking out hand to mouth subsistence
never livingsocial, nor buzzfeeding
avast set of basic hormonal needs and wants

and/ or acquiring, succoring,
and treasuring pittance
akin to dime a dozen
day late and dollar short paupers,
(whose mere pennies on the dollar earnings,
albeit insufficiently funded legal tender)
while accruing mere stale crumbs
comprising daily bread -

our humble father
who art thou in heaven...
bejesus crust...damn near
impossible mission to guarantee
adequate sense and sensibility
pertaining to mine remaining
complete or partial celestial orbitz
without pride nor prejudice
upending, jeopardizing, or compromising
my fragile ego contemplating Cogito, ergo sum.