Why is it that
your happiness
seems inversely proportional
to mine?

Why is it that
your happiness
seems, perversely, disproportional
to mine?

But when we were together,
your lack of happiness
consumed all of mine.

I’m too short

No I’m too tall

My nose is too wide

My eyes are too small

My cheekbones are too high

My lips are too thin

Yet it’s not about looks

It’s what’s within?

Well I don’t believe that

I’m not stupid

If I looked differently

I wouldn’t need Cupid

Alas you only can realize

That I look remotely cute

Is right before I dive

In my swimsuit

But even then

You want it all

And my forehead’s much too high

And my eyes too small

1: My face is disproportional to the rest of me
It looks so uncomfortable sitting on my shoulders
Like it's a holder for the weight of the world

#2: My eyes show too much expression
They cannot lie
Even in moments of severe desperation
When lying that no, I am not about to cry

#3: My words are always awkward
Especially when spoken
They convey the notion of stupidity
When that's not true in reality

#4: My inability to cope with any stressful circumstance
Always retreating
Always receding
Instead of seeking out help

#5: My self hate
My inability to love who I am
The constant wish that I was someone
Who can
Love themselves with their entire heart
And not be dragged into this never ending dark
Of despising yourself
But blaming everyone else

Pick up the bones
Littered on the ground like a necklace
You made when you were five
Out of sea shells and mermaid hair
Wishing that you had scales and that you could swim
Because little girls don’t play in sandboxes anymore
But in their mothers’ makeup
Pretending to get fake injections in their face
Popping Smarties that they wish were diet pills
While they wait for their ******* to come in
The ones like Barbie’s: disproportional to her body—
A twenty pound weight that forces you forwards
With puckered lips and wrinkled spine—
Setting them up for disappointment and therapy
That comes in exactly the same shade of pink as the doll house
That promises real answers and quick fixes
Which figurines can’t convincingly lie about
Because they are more real as a plastic piece of childhood
Than the science behind depression and the statistically-backed  
positives of fancy water with antioxidants.

Pick up the bones
While little boys play with firecrackers and rocks
Popping them at the feet of faceless passersby
Wondering if the snaps are anything like the guns
From COD instead of WWII
Hoping that the girl next door will grow up to be a ****
But more interested in her mom being a cougar
That cigarettes will stop being bad for them
Because Indiana Jones made them look so cool
And leather jackets will always be in style
So they grow bored with legos and G.I. Joe’s
Because there’s no ***, no violence in imagination—
Not real violence anyway.

So bend down and pick them up
The shattered remains of what was left of the pretend baby
You thought you wanted
What was left of you before you remembered to dye your hair
And to darken your eyes with black smudges
What was left of your brother before he joined the army
Before he fell inside a scotch bottle and drowned
In the amber liquid that reminded him of *****
Passed down from your father.
Clutch at what was left of your sister before she wasted away into
The shallow shell of what she thought was beautiful
To the point of emaciation
Because pointed elbows and sunken cheeks
Will get her the movies she thinks she wants
And that you know she won’t get because she’s
Become too fake, too plastic to play a’real-boy.’

Now put them in your pocket
Because the wind is blowing and you’re afraid they will fly away
Afraid you will too without them to weigh you down
To keep you here.

Tuck them up and wrap them in mermaid hair and sea shells
And wish that you could be the person who played in sandboxes
And only cried if she got shampoo in her eyes
The one who made necklaces instead of doctor’s appointments
And laughed at herself instead of being tired all the time.

You put them in your pocket
And pray that someday you’ll figure out how to put them back together
Stand them up like a statue
One that you can make wave or frown
But not smile because you can’t remember what theirs looked like
(And it wouldn’t be realistic anyway)
So that you can make-believe
they never fell apart in the first place and that you never fell apart with them.

I want to sleep
on the round softness
of Nina Saunders' disproportional ball

Upside down
Climbing the wall
but my dreams
are twisted

disturbed
by the dagger penetrating puberty
and the cool still life
silently killing - youth
on the surrounding walls

The hair
The eyes
The teeth
The skin
The body
Commoners pay so much attention to it; Number one priority
One hair out of place
One eye color gone wrong
One tooth gone crooked
One blemish living on your skin
One disproportional body part
Your beauty is now shattered; To be forever ordinary
Pay attention to their actions
Pay attention to their humor
Pay attention to their likes and dislikes
Pay attention to their thoughts
Pay attention to their feelings and goals
The power within us all is strong; Question is, can you embrace it?

Unfeeling , beautiful things -
deserve our understanding
Paralyzed , disproportional-
traits of character beg basic courtesy
Satin gardenias bring peace followed-
by pain ..
Colors are bleeding through marble tablets-
of retrospection ..
Eroded hands engaged in the fall
Becoming resolute , deserving-
of my permanent agitation

You took away our voices before
we had the chance to create them
That any thought spoken louder than a
whisper was something to be ashamed of
An opposing opinion resulting in dismissal
a reconfirmation of low self esteem
Or met with disproportional anger
the discussion; one sided was simply yelling
Never needing a reasoning behind why
your opinions were correct; you’re the adult
Expecting us to swallow everything you
said without question. Who gave you this power?
How did you come to sit on a hand crafted pedestal
look around with ignorant eyes, creating false truths
From your own opinions. That we must abide by
or keep silent for in our silence there is submission

From this came my pain and lack of acceptance
survival depended on hiding; learning to act
Through this I lost the chance to become an individual
Quite shells to take your anger out on
Rather than discovering individuality
My sole goal was invisibility to keep pain at bay
detachment tying me back from creating myself
While you stand to the side oblivious to consequences
Now I stand in the rubble of the past
fumbling to put the pieces together; dissolving cracks
Scraping the filth away to find what I desperately hid
a constant battle to reject not myself but the
ideas that you have ingrained within me
While the bullets have ceased;
the rebuilding is just emerging  
Trying to accept myself when you never would

As I gaze upon the beauty that only so much of my eyes can grasp,

I enter into the universe of a human being who is composed of multiple galaxies pooling together to create a breathless whole. Planets embody the few people he trusts enough to orbit his life, meteors are his conflicting beliefs colliding with each other, while the stars manifest the milestones he has unlocked, and connecting one to the other forms meaningful constellations of who he is today.

As I examine every angle of his curved physique,

I open the anatomy of a human being whose organs agree to a pact  
of building a sanctuary - an oasis that would keep him safe from the evil trying to penetrate his subconscious. The blood in his veins rushes throughout his body to enliven a dormant soul, his ribcage is a fortress that shields his heart from shattering into a thousand irreparable pieces, and his bones contain enough calcium to trace a perfectly disproportional outline of the human figure.

As I listen to the first words uttered by his misty pink lips,

I hear the music of a human being whose taste mixes with unorthodox genres and whose spirit is filled with rhapsodies of the heart. He eludes electronic pop melodies but dances to the rhythm of jazz and the way that he drowns in the unconventional has resonated with the beat of my heart - steady, slow, and sometimes fast.

And here I am, hoping for the ball of luck to find me, because who am I to fall in love with a masterpiece when I am merely an unfinished artwork that ceased to exist?