searching for a temporary fixation
that could fix your life,
you don't lack in the dedication department,
but your focus is scattered
and your effort's half-hearted.
and you want to get out of here so badly,
stuck in a loop of endless quotations,
but your mind's been underperforming lately,
sending out "save the date" invitations
to a preemptive memorial service.
that grave's been waiting around for a purpose
ever since the first final warning.
you're not stalling, just weighing your options,
looking convincing in that little black lie.
maybe calling it quits is your calling,
doubling down on the hibernation mode,
half-awake around half past five,
searching for a temporary fixation
that could fix your life.

Anxiety - tells me that it's all my fault. It fills my chest and stomach with a sick, sweet bile that I'm unable to *****. It tells me I'm sick, but never sick enough. That I deserve to be miserable because I am a liar and a sinner and a *****.

Anxiety - looks like being late for work everyday. Being constantly distracted, overworked, underperforming.  Anxiety is quiet in the room but loud in my ears. I'm frozen in sickness but I cannot stop moving.

My roommates and I
always have something to say.
We talk incessantly, like chirping birds.

We’re all reading the same large print here, and It suggests that college is almost over.
We’re bleeding time and there are dreams in need of scheming.
It’s time to stack our chips with transactional relationships and hoard the things that matter most.

I have to admire the sheer attitude and bravado of these girls—their defiant strides,
as they face the invisible indignities and constant obstacles of job hunting.
(Where they’re required to behave while they’re observed and evaluated).

They have their resumes and they’re complaisantly ready to flex their appealing gregariousness.
All of the major playas are passing through—from established giants like (Amgen, Bayer and Genentech)
to biotech startups and research Institutes—to cull through the herd of Yale biomedical graduates.

I don’t get to play (interview) this time and it’s rough just watching the signs and plays from the sidelines.
I can’t help the feeling that I’m underperforming—even though my ‘Master of Public Health (MPH)’ program starts 10 days after we graduate. ‘Baby, I was born to run’— to steal a line from Bruce Springsteen.

Despite our separate paths—we’re like cats getting ready to jump in all directions—a bouillabaisse of intoxicating and terrifying excitement for the future is brewing, and we still have the constrictions of our current curriculum to deal with—like a snake, it still wraps around every aspect of our lives.
.
.
Songs for this:
born to run by Bruce Springstein
Time by Tom Waits
.
Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_03.mp3

i have always heard of aristophanes' story of soulmates be retold a bunch of times. the story always starts with humans originally having 4 legs, 4 arms, and a head with two faces. fearing the power they hold, zeus split them into two; condemning them to spend their lives finding their other halves.

i have always found it funny and fascinating. but i can't help but to think if the story is flawed?

because who's to say that there's only one person for me my whole life? who's to say that it can't take the form of a lover?

it can take place in the form of a friend that checks up on you at random
it can take place in the form of a professor that helps you when you've been underperforming
it can take place in the form of a parent that has always had your back throughout your years.

but why stop there? who's to say it had to be a person?

it can take place in the form of a sunny day where the sky is as clear as the ocean
it can take place in the form of an object that has always brought you back to your comfort zone
it can even take place in the form of a stray cat that is very playful to you everytime you pass by them

but again, i beg the question. who's to say aristophanes wasn't right? because maybe i am wrong

maybe, all this time, i just never met the right person

because i never met someone
who was as calm as a bright, blue sky
as playful and cheerful like a feral cat
as warm and welcoming like a friend

till i met you.

Twas partly on account
of yours truly being incarnation of Samson;
spouse and I wed
please fate, don't say alopecia didst tread;
though atheist to higher power
yours truly pled
heart sank analogous
to plumbline made of lead
as each strand falls out of my head
without being replaced by another,
albeit veritable dead
cells comprised once luscious locks.

Futile effort to bemoan
underperforming hair follicles,
nevertheless I rank as just one
limey, measly, and nasally outlier,
(nevertheless able bodied, minded
and spirited wordsmith) doth dare
to express honest to dog distress;
Now tis lament to thinning hair,
yours truly doth beseech cosmic creator

donned as devil in disguise
rudely barging into
mine Scottish tartan matted lair
non-responsive to fervent prayer
revealing how mine paternal
genealogical trunk mane lion
whooshes like a red bull at lightspeed
vis a vis tempus fugit
galloping manic tear.

Early this year
gentle as calm ocean waters
lapping along a weir
thumb and forefinger
of right hand would peel back,
(via diagonally flipping motion
asper turning pages of calendar
representing father time
regarding personification and progression)
of fleeting seconds, minutes, days,...

gets flipped over to veer
in one direction (linear)
thy head immediately
lost hirsute thickness,
I starkly share and lament
those suffering male
or female pattern baldness,
and can't hope noticing
limp decreasing strands
intermixed with increasing

number of gray ones
sends shivers along small hairs of spine,
gloomy feeling linkedin
with old fashioned meaning of queer
really ambling along tragicomic stream,
he evinced how gargoyles mockingly leer
in conjunction dreams fraught
with frightful haunting monsters jeer
loosing sleep and kept raggedly awake
ring sound reverberating

hair splitting, jump/
kick starting decibel jamming
primary cranial gear
aye tell mice elf nothing to fear...,
yet maximizing this plight with poem 'ere
Yukon also temporarily part
blond, brown, gold,
et cetera locks mud dear
regarding inexplicable
rhyme without reason

invites compulsion, fixation, obsession...
why keratinous filament
growing out of the epidermis
(made of dead, keratinized cells)
matters so much, that one
unnamed garden variety generic
**** sapiens would
rather be dead than bald.