With a title deeply rooted
in subject matter iterated above
invariably makes for hair raising poem,
though I immediately attest said material
constitutes atypical topic
the writing process (with intent
to share bizarre pet peeve)
mildly cathartic to ameliorate
long established body dysmorphia,
(which lifelong aversion

about how body electric
of mine - a corporeal entity housing
an aging baby boomer wordsmith),
steeped with lifetime worth
of disproportionate outsize importance
linkedin to those fibrous
harried styled brunette strands
sustained courtesy by tiny blood vessels
at the base of every follicle
buzzfeeding the hair root to keep it growing.

But once the hairs
becomes visible
(not just on my chinny chin chin),
but more so at the skin's surface,
the cells within the strand of hair
aren't alive anymore.

The hair you see on every part
of your body contains dead cells.

Nevertheless empirical evidence
witnessed bajillion dollar industries,
where many an entrepreneur
made a bundle of money
buttressing caparisoning oneself
aspiring to attain exemplification
towards how western civilization
(and subsequently webbed wide world)
defines contrived beautify.

Yours truly (particularly during
his emotionally tumultuous adolescence)
for all intents and purposes
most all each of his
life long journey into night,
he considered himself afflicted
with obsessive compulsive behavior in general,
and incongruous objection
with arbitrary template
of attraction (as applies
to the male species) in particular.

As a cute little boy
with strawberry blonde hair
kept cropped short to scalp
acquired motherly
endearment of "little monkey,"
accompanied courtesy pinch of cheeks
yet outgrew both imposition of buzz cut
and appellation, yet bananas
as passion fruit never faded
but parental decree to schedule appointments
with barber became vehemently reviled.

I vaguely recollect demonstratively
niggling, remonstrating, and voicing
strong objection, ne protestation
against getting a haircut
(in tandem with gesticulations)
as aladdin upper grades of elementary school,
whereby parents quickly relented
allowing, enabling, and providing
their singular sole son opportunistic
fostering unhealthy relationship
growing his long luscious locks
with what in short order became
nonestablishmentarian true trademark.

Fixation as a vitamin ******
peculiarly evolved whereby
ingesting over the counter supplements
(despite evidence to the contrary)
buzzfeeds limp tresses
lacking pseudo/quasi Jewfro
(a curly, frizzy, or bushy hairstyle
worn by some Jewish people,
reminiscent of an Afro)
sported by yours truly
during his emerging adulthood.