shook the living daylights
out of me body, mind and spirit
sequestered within figurative boondocks,
where mine adolescent vernal equinox
blocked courtesy anorexia nervosa
thus healthy maturation
shut tight where key (person, i.e. me)
unable to stave off mailer daemons
that busted thru interlocks
housing amorphous psyche
affecting natural metamorphous
blocking, damning,
and hardening interference,
disallowing hormonal secretion
encrustation impossible mission
for locksmith to access
precious contents of lockbox
only courtesy prescription medication
could psychiatrist outfox
nearly insurmountable immense roadblocks
and years of therapy to unbox
stifled predilection to free
aura, charisma, and enigma
to break with painstaking
effort masterfully linkedin
heavily secured lock,
stock and barrel
finally able to pry open

against immense ohm my dog

resistance cerebral xbox.

Morphological characteristics
exhibited a socially withdrawn lad
punctuated with obvious disequilibrium
keeping his head bowed down
and shoulders hunched together,
which non-verbal
acta non verba
suppressed communication
spoke tomes volumes
(putting Dickens to shame),

plus hashtagged behavior

offered a rich mother lode

yours truly daringly,
nearly, and practically
begged, borrowed masterfully baited,
and witnessed human vultures
swoop down from on high
to eviscerate me figuratively,
which blitzkrieg besiegement
of incessant thuggery
from nasty, not so short
yet brutish louts
never witnessed
my analogous top to explode,
but I dearly paid the price
courtesy physiological fallout
such as debilitating panic attacks,
obsessive compulsive disorder,
palmar hyperhidrosis,
racing heartbeat
to list a small number
of mailer daemon villains
who stomped like vicious animals
upon mine psyche
crushing every last ounce
of willpower
to brave the gauntlet of mockery
from boarding the school bus
going and coming home
from Methacton High School,
and interrogations by goons
taking their hostility out
on a human punching bag,
which royal pummeling
severely left a sight
for sore (four) eyes
hashtagged the professor
by the likes of Allan J. Herr,
who got satisfaction feigning
being poised to strike
and then landing a doozy
smack dab upon
their sweet spot,
and yet altercations
even occurred years back
when a first grade student
at Audubon Elementary
which kid named Lloyd Levinsky
threatened to beat the living color
out of this coward
whose lovely bones
dropped to the ground
like a sack of potatoes

pleading for my mommy,
which remembrance of things past 
surfaced when undergoing scream therapy 
courtesy Jean Dole 
(whose second husband, I believe) 
heir to the aforementioned company 
with the same name, 
yet she got nary one red cent 
after divorcing husband, 
but never mind him, 
but her practice 
focused on scream therapy 
while seated in a prayer position 
on the floor and voicing 
all that cumulative anger, 
not just from the accrued rage 
inside the (human) machine, 
but also midnight lectures 
lashed out at the writer 
of these words 
from dear ole papa.

Those regular brow beating sessions
I called Dad’s infamous midnight lectures

and dreaded every malevolent utterance 

when father requested he speak 

not about some choice topic de jure 

brought a twinkle to my eye

but that all to familiar monologue 

finding me standing like stone wall

hearing, tuning out with equally 

predictable trademark demurely meek

pose with hands crossed against chest 

of the then easily intimidated guy

despite feeling effects of utter ennui 

and fatigue attempted to stand tall

against the tsunami verbal typhoon 

itching to drown out said battle creek

when asked capisce? comprende? farshtayst? 

looked blankly at floor well nigh

or pretended to stare at something extremely 

fascinating on the kitchen wall 

for he may as well asked if I understand 

in an unfamiliar language such as greek

most likely getting successful results 

yammering away at common house fly

possibly seething inside 

(p’raps equally swatted) 

ready to lash out into a brawl

held back by fear plus 

in comparison to me pop – 

just an itty bitty pipsqueak

who felt onrushing of 

overpowering desire to collapse and cry

compounded by growing urge 

to urinate from that natural urethral call

spoke nada word, nor gave hint 

of hearing from loathsome blather that did reek

like decomposition of fetid 

dead living entity that began to putrefy,

which offal to mine ears, tugged 

impetus under warm blankets to crawl.