We Make Our Own Prisons And I Am Still On Death Row

I've been single for 5 1/2 years.
In that time--
I've gone on 4 dates.
I've been celibate that entire time.
I haven't even kissed a girl since 2003.

That's pretty messed up.

I am horrified by my pattern baldness.
My extra 20 pounds.
My burns.
Girls didn't even notice me in my collegiate heyday
what dame's gonna give me a 2nd look now?

But I won't get fat-- oh no.
20 pounds won't go away by jogging 20 mins every other night,
I can't delude myself that way.
Nor will they scram if I keep eating as poorly & as processed as I do...
But I can't afford a gym membership
(you could exercise in the basement, Fatty)
& my food budget is modest
(but yet you dropped $40 at the comicbook convention this weekend).
I'm not Gigantasaurus by any means,
but I'm lanky...
& a potbelly on a lanky person...
is like a well-placed hickey on the neck.
It sticks out for all to see
no matter how much you nod...or intake.

And the hair...don't get me started on that genetic betrayal.
That's the worse of it.
I'm a vibrant 30something w/ Paulie Walnut's hairline
(OK, no skunk stripes but...)
It was fine hair when I was a child.
Now it's just thin,
thin enough I see the sun through it in the rearview
when I drive the worktruck.
Like folicles in a prairie,
upright threads no girl will run her hand through.
I'd be better off w/ mange.
And I've gone the short but spiky route,
& I even did the (shudder) buzzcut,
my old Oak Square barber running the electric razor straight down my forehead,
like a chattering, chewing depth charge...
I see why the Mohawk Indians valued their hairstyle,
I know why Elvis was his pompadour,
I know the power of rich, verile hair.
The image it projects.
And what its antithesis exudes.

My legs I can do nothing about short of an operation.
I'll always have chicken legs then,
like uncooked, stringy crisp.
Fleshy potholes & waxy veinwork.
If my hair is the equivalent of a 50 year old's...
then my legs are old man's legs.
Geriatric stickpegs.
Again, if this bothered me so much though...
there is plastic surgery.
I could be smooth by now.

So that's the physical deficiencies,
& they are doozies.
But I'm also cognizent that those can be excuses
for the real deals--
My fear
My mistrust
My self-hatred/lack of success
My laziness.

So this is my rationale--

I cannot have a social life until I am successful in my chosen career.
I must have money or stature or power or fame to attract women.
My standards are incredibly high & unrealistic
so only the above attributes will help me achieve said women.
Hence, w/ any or all of the above lacking...
I am unattractive.

Like I said, pretty messed up.