"disproportionate" poems
I see you, monster...
In your sockets bore dead, dark eyes
They hold the blackest of stares
Nebulous swirling pits of demise
Thin lips would spout the most sibilant of hisses
Every so often would curl into a snarl
Dry and chapped, almost unworthy of kisses
Large, rough snout, jutting out like a crag
You sniff around tirelessly for easy targets
Preying on the unsuspecting minds of those under your flag
Tapering chin, sprouting strands of coarse hair
Unkempt and gritty from your last meal
Decaying teeth, crooked due to little to no care
Your face is cratered; tales of trying adolescent years
Wearing a face only a mother could love
Expressionless but it screams out your fears
Ugly jointed limbs that grew out of sync
Disproportionate, misshapen, grotesque
Little noggin with sparse hair, packed within, a brain that thinks
I hear you, monster...
As you stalk your sleepless nights
Nocturnal ambience be your playground
Lurking in the dark; places with no light
Bulky, heavy feet but deft and silent
Can barely notice when you're up and about
As if cloaked yourself stealthy, with steps ever transient
Respire you do, exhaling breaths so gnarly
Ingesting good air, converting into fervid, loathsome notions
With which you paint a portrait so ghastly
I feel you monster...
Deep within the recesses of my heart
Destroying and distorting all that was pure
Testing my will till I should fall apart
You're but the twisted manifestation of conscience
Feeding on my trials and nurturing them into vile abominations
I despise that of you but I seem to have developed dependence
I see you, monster...
You're horrid and beastly, an embodiment of absolute horror
I await the day that you would finally dissolve
For I am weary of seeing you staring back in the mirror
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
I was a shirt filed with straw and rags.
Pants that hang loose. Jeans cuffed pinned uncomfortably.
Nothing to think of; a hat filled with straw.
The inability to walk. Pinned to a board.
Hickory oak.
Chest disproportionate to a small waist.
Sleeves flung in the wind.
Left standing still; a face motionless.
Pinned to hickory oak.
A shadow left in an empty field, the boundaries of a checkerboard shirt.
The insecurity of straw hands.
Pickett fences to the feet of crows,
Still she'd visit often.
Distance cut short by dark heavy wings.
She'd caw in my silence,
Not knowing the ability to smile I stood against purpose.
She refused to run, poking fun at my hat.
The clothes that hung loosely in the wind, scurf tied tightly around my neck.
Feeling her ***** the strings of my chest.
Strands of straw filled by her need to find a home.
Was there anything there at all before that moment.
Becoming shelter to the way she pried.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 7:11 AM UTC
this world spins way too fast
my head turns a little too slow
Sep 27, 2019
Sep 27, 2019 at 1:36 AM UTC
I'm slipping
I'm falling
I can't keep it together
My seems are coming undone
My fat hangs off me in rolls
Don't eat
Don't you ******* eat
Look at your body
You are ugly and pathetic
Look at your uneven tan
You have fat *** thighs
Your body is disproportionate
Look at you genitilia
Just look at them
Look how wrong they are
They don't fit you
You are such a failure that your own body can't stand you
Let the self hate build up
Let the dysphoria overwhelm you
Let Ana whispering in your ear be heard
You owe yourself this much
You deserve every last bit
Past sliping
Past falling
You are done
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
My dearest darling
we were
doomed
from the start,
disillusioned and
dangling
from our
disproportionate
determination,
left to drown
in the
dreams
gone to waste.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
The Paragliders like ravenous vultures flew
to southern Israel to predate on soft targets.
Like swarms of bees, they snuck, ***** maimed, shot, burnt and slew.
Terror did every man's fragile conscience becloud.
Hate made their embittered hearts to mercy forget.
Abductions followed, having to terror avowed.
Then came the IDF's genocidal intent,
having intended global laws to circumvent;
Children, women, all consumed by mighty vengeance.
A disproportionate response beyond balance.
Homes, hospitals, Mosques, Churches and schools are levelled,
as Gaza is by torrents of bombs bedeviled.
I do not with a livid Israel sympathize,
nor do I with a besieged Gaza empathize.
With humanity I have my affinity,
for my deep love for it, tends to infinity.
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 4:37 AM UTC
The Orb is relying on remnant technology
they effortlessly jettison LCD's
to breach the black hole,
humankoids re-activate their birth circuitry
programmed to emote on Ringoo, Jhon,
yet they have dissipated the rest.
In a parallel universe optic nerves
will ruse carbon copies of George and Paul
and everybody will laugh nervously
at two systems so disproportionate
re-uniting the infinite.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 5:41 PM UTC
Belly full of water
Brush, spit, and repeat…
Temporary painted cobweb of ******
Crust, synthetic yellow, and discomfort
Constantly sightseeing shirts I don’t own
Slim, disproportionate, and underweight
My senior-prom photos exist, still
2009, RIP: Caniglia's Venice Inn, and tie-dye.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
little yellow teeth
stained by years of coffee and cigarettes
layered like sedimentary rock
wire brush mustache
on a face that betrays his years
a reflection of a potential that went unrealized
such an angry man
even his words are burdened
with equal parts guilt and rage
"do as I say kid"
"because I said so"
he must view himself a tough, strong man
despite being an upper middle aged diabetic
possessing a physique
that calls to mind a woman in her third trimester
his bitterness, his depression, his emptiness
permeated every layer of life
imagine a son
who grew up confused, frightened
not knowing when, how, or why
a display of aggression would occur
wildly disproportionate to whatever perceived transgression
my sins weren't fictional, i needed better representation
a one-by-two
a measurement of lumber
wrapped in athletic tape
an display, a warning readily available
a disciplinary tool for any occasion
when broken across my ***
a lesson was given but rarely learned
we never communicated then
we barely speak now
if only for the lack of something civil to say
should platitudes serve as a father and son bond
then our collective stubbornness is worth a mention
if blame needs placing
and i was taught this behavior
can i learn to forgive and love
such a below average model for God?
right on cue
his catholic upbringing screams in my ear
and my irish rises
an irish familiar to him
the only thing we share
he could have kept that to himself
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 11:52 AM UTC
If you willingly forgo the possibilities of nights
why, feel sad and lament for not having dreams?
find a life of fun easily without any dream-
there are millions around never dared to dream!
don't make guilt demand, a disproportionate price from you,
The city night, regales us in the flood of artificial lights,
eradicating the distracting dreams once and for all,
all through night digital advertisements
blink and die continuously till the morning light appears.
when a day dies out, on earlier times, a night would begin,
now at the end of the day, night too dies , in the flood of lights.
why make futile dreams, that wouldn't deliver anything,
make your dreams fishes in show ponds that swims at night.
On the dry ears of sleepless in cities,
music from radio demands attention,
still solidified sleep, with the wings of darkness
sit on the night trees,
no sleep, no dreams, no secrets, what a happiness!!
the speakers of the personal computers of girls
celebrated, sleeplessness with fanfare
then boys and girls danced out of some instinct.
Night stood sad at the corners of sky...
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
I cannot really love
At the moment
But you know what I can do?
I can still
Appreciate
Women
And their beauty
Admittedly, their bodies as well
For their long dark hair
And big, round, soft…
Eyes…
And their disproportionate noses
Or baby fat laden cheeks
I can still appreciate it all
And every woman
Needs a little more
Appreciation
Doesn’t she?
I am here to serve
To appreciate
But not to love
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
paranoia of the 3rd degree
in 8th grade
when the boy i liked IM'd my friend
and said the shirt i wore to church made me look fat.
shaking nervousness in a 12 year old body
overweight
moving a fork from my plate to my mouth --
a true horror
listening to girls read calories
off a box of vanilla wafers
pinching my stomach fat
wanting to tear it off
an 8 year old who asked her older sister
to help her get thinner
decades i've wasted looking so close at every piece of me
i know how i look from every angle without a mirror
i've memorized every defect.
critical sections studied under a microscope:
i am not anything but scientific in my process.
i blow myself up to disproportionate sizes
and then wonder why sometimes i lay in bed and feel
huge.
and other times
so small.
after a while you'll begin to realize that the constant scrutiny and study of your temple is fruitless
that the hungry monster behind your ribcage
that eats dark lipstick and winged eyeliner and name brand clothes and highlighting powder and contouring brushes
that you sacrifice increments of time to every morning,
night
every prolonged glance in a mirror...
fuels itself off the notion that the images we see on a screen are the standard for cultural truth.
i turned 21 and decided to throw away the microscope.
to change what images i saw on my screens
to eliminate the photoshopped waists and fill them with pictures of normal, happy bodies
and i began to see the body that i exercised,
fed vegetables,
watered,
washed,
nurtured,
as not fat or ugly or unwanted
but as a perfect home for myself
and maybe someone else
if i wanted.
because the cultural truth lies in what you see in other humans
not dancing shadows on a screen in a cave
it lies in the gentle rolls of your stomach
and the crinkles around your lips and eyes
and the pimples on your forehead.
there is nothing garish
about reality.
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 10:17 AM UTC
For sale: One body. Used. Glitters in the sunlight but only when wearing illfitting, ugly, boring clothes.
Hair, though not much of it, but too much for the company of wolves. Fuzzy. Generic. Drips a lot after hot showers. Not black. Not brown. Not red. Maybe blonde.
Lots of freckles in shapes that may or may not be cult objects.
Lips bitten, but not as much as nails. We regret to inform you that this model has the ugliest hands you’ve ever seen. Skin breaking up, peeling like sunburn at fingertips. Red. Cramp in the cold and every other climate. Small. Fit into spaces they can’t get out of. Inky. Spew words.
Scrawny, disproportionate legs and arms. Knobby knees. Stuck-in toes. Crooked from hips-down. Bowlegged. Beastlike.
Woman hips. ******* that used to be perfect until nineteen. Now they’re just a bit useless. We apologize for the inconvenience.
****** Not a ****** Clawed. Friction burn. Too much hair. Too little hair. More hair down there than there is on one side of the head. Razor marks. Blisters, sometimes. Lots and lots of blisters.
Thighs are good for holding, not much else.
Weak. Scrawny. The ********* meal you’ll ever have.
Gateway eyes that tell you she’d rather be anything but a body with a ****** and **** and lips and all of the above.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
has never really been my thing.
My clothes sit funny, and frump
in all of the wrong places. I'm
short, and kinda chubby. My body
is so disproportionate, I won't even
go there. I have freckles painted
all over, cursing me to be
forever fair skinned.
I'll look away, and pretend to be
in deep thought. Or I'll act like I
suddenly have something I'm
absorbed in, on my ****** phone.
I run my hands through
my snarly, blonde hair - even though
it looks just fine. Yes, I'm that person
who coughs, just so that I'm doing something
if I don't feel
quite right.
I'm sure you can decipher the difference
between my real laugh
and the fake.
At times though, this is null and void.
It's those days, that i love the most.
Rare, but rewarding.
Standing tall, I'll smile at strangers.
Looking in the mirror is fun, and taking
pictures - isn't torture. Laughter eases
out of me, and I shout.
Sometimes I get really ballsy, and
I'll tell you if I think you're cute
just because I can. Flirting is easier
and not something I worry about.
Confidence is all about the
m i n d s e t .
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
a voltage feeds my mind
like that of a brief rainfall
where there is an asterisks
of insignificant social commentary
whose reality pertains
to disproportionate events
whose commission
makes a profession out of trivia
which is no more ******* durable
than accumulated dispersion of adrenalin
that of a psychophysical explorative
exploitation of unrealized
perpetual fermentation
that seethes with the singeing smell
that accompanies its lie
those demanding untruths
that lock each and everyone
in a burning prison of panic
a prism of unfocused
visionary liberation perhaps to some
the realization of the cosmos
that lives within the poets interior
a mighty roar of space
waiting to be filled
with visions of future worlds
of future social commentary
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
By Arcassin B
Seen the lovin' coming from a mile away in my
Only line of vision with precision looking for a better
Future with her,
I search for growth in the dirt , I mean soil,
Granting me wishes that I soley deserve,
I got your feelings on a platter , you can't even get away from me,
The grass is greener everyday when you smile in anomaly,
The trees growing in disproportionate commonly epitome ,
Didn't make no sense there but your skin so heavenly like Angels
And their boastfulness and privileged to the recent decisions you make in your life
Thinking what I could have done if I had chosen the commandments over the
Unconsciousness world of evil at its finest component,
Wasn't ready for those moments,
I don't want my last moments,
To be a ball full of hate towards others that have not showed me respect,
You take that all in and recollect,
I'm retrospect,
Place your bet,
Love for an angel is a blessing sent,
From the Lord himself,
Gathering up all of my wealth....
/
....*a wealth-that I *- can share with you,
You don't have to say a thing , your beauty says a lot
With the features,
I know- that you've - been waiting,
for love to come sweep you off your feet
pretty baby,
the cold- will se-parate us,
in a state of loss of the love that we had for each other,
But you don't have to say a thing,
I love holding hands with you.
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 9:41 AM UTC
Lips move in frenzy and I start to drift.
All fall out of sync and the loudness is swift.
A train passes by as mine derails.
I pull the brake but the friction fails.
I see many faces alive but they bleed.
They still shout with an unfathomable creed.
Back in the mass again where I was,
I feel uneasy to know that there’s no pause.
A cloudless sky runs with haste.
I see people eating with no sense of taste.
Surrounded with the filth I begin to wonder,
If in this storm there ever was a thunder.
I lock my jaws and unlock my mind,
with numerous toungues spelling curses behind.
I infer, I dceree and I pass my chance,
leaving my inmates with a courteous glance.
Now I am happy and I kiss my luck,
blaming the noise with which I was stuck.
I see a doctor to ask for a cure.
He sounds pretty sound and he knows it for sure.
In his words he tries to be quite precise,
”They talk a little crazy disproportionate to their size,
of things they know and out of their sight.
They run with a torch that bears no light.
They laugh, they mock and hinder your way.
They bet their back as much as they may.
They mumble, they chatter, they faulter and sigh.
They look back a lot to disguise a lie.
To hide their faces they wear those masks.
They’ll answer to all even if no one asks.
Their demeanor to you looks absurd because
according to them, ‘the effect precedes the cause’.
They always get paid to wear and tear.
It’s in silence they die. It’s loneliness they fear.”
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
The alcohol is burning
a fire through my veins
that makes every love
you ever showed me
microscopic in comparison.
Minuscule and disproportionate.
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 12:00 AM UTC
Philoxenic appetence
Misplaced
Disproportionate benevolence
Dissipate
Myself: an object, given away
A transient drifter with always somewhere to stay
Exuberant sorrow ever-wishing to deject
Distortion
Deception duplicates
A heart burnt black
Focussed on the lacking, unable to bounce back
Mouths to feed
Needy hands grapple to extract
No fact needed
Smoky contortion
Inhaled greedily
Ready for the downfall
Open to the wind
Upward spirals shy away from the world they crave
Mischievous nymphs dance merrily on a stage,
Unmade
Then lay down to cradle their babes
Slaves to the slovenly
Behaviour of unrest
I know they’re trying hard but is it their best?
Sing a song of sixpence, your fingers in my pie
Life is not serious
We’re all destined to die
High.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 9:41 AM UTC
here's the thing:
I know I am needy and jealous,
and my skin is only pretty in the summer,
and my hair frizzes more often than not,
and my nose is too big for conventional beauty
I know that I talk funny a lot,
and my body is disproportionate
(just like my music taste),
and I never really know what I'm talking about,
and my hands are always cold and clammy
I know that I apologize too much (sorry),
and that I usually make a big deal out of nothing,
and that I usually look angry,
even when I'm happy
I know that my exuberance is hard to handle,
and that I am easy to disappoint
and easy to be disappointed in,
and that I lose motivation too quickly,
and that my smile is too often late and clumsy
I know all these things aren't so great,
(and I know of many more),
but I know that
I am caring and loyal
and my skin gets tan
and warm and filled with sunlight
and my eyelashes are long and full
and when I smile for real,
it is sincere and warm and genuine
I know that I hold myself to higher standards,
and that I get very passionate about little things,
and that I read a lot more than most
I know that I am compassionate and considerate,
and find happiness in the smallest details
And I know that I am hardworking
(when I need to be),
but I also know how to relax,
and I can handle my own burdens
(as well as some of yours)
so between the pros and cons,
I hope someone will someday
find it in their heart
to fall in love with me
as I have done with you
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 3:40 AM UTC
It is as if every word I utter
I stutter as I rethink
to avoid their words
of a terrible idiosyncrasy
hollering profanities
and shame towards me
for the wits presented
to them for only glee
Their disproportionate
lines of reality burns them—
like the termites that feed
on the heart of a tree—
How could I fathom
their blatancy
in having such an
aversion towards me?
Mar 7, 2018
Mar 7, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC
There was something about her
That made memories linger
But I remember her in bits
How she fuddled with her fingers
And how a glance from her
Was like recieving a hug in an envelope
There was a sparkle in her eyes
Just a bit hope
She had a sly smirk
Whenever she schemed
She found happiness where ever it lurked
Even in the saddest dreams
She saw how every detail is perfect
Or so it seemed
She was a complete mess
And justified it
When she confessed
That chaos is beauty
But lacked to see her own loveliness
Her image was disproportionate
She couldn't even fathom
That the way her way of life
Had so much value and passion
It created an effect of inspiration
To any one she spoke
And she couldn't believe
How much she meant to me
I guess she just didn't know
That there was something about her
That made her glow.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 4:04 PM UTC
I've lived countless lives and loved countless wives
I've defeated voldemort, sauron and countless others
Looted and plundered with the Vikings
Went on psychotic murderous rampages
Built floating, intricate castles in the sky, with balconies out of which I've stared for countless hours, trying to make sense of the patterns made by the constellations shining through the fluffy clouds in the night sky
Settled on a inhabitable planet with a population of only loopy straws whose only purpose in life Seemed to be to force feed me thick foamy milkshakes until the buttons on my jeans popped and I blew up like a balloon and floated away into the skies
I've lived the life of a poem, may it be joyous or pitiful, enraged or complacent, unrhymely or out of verse
An entire planet at times; tectonic plates moving to make and break the shape of continents, and have ecosystems being formed on my being, watch with pleasure as new life forms on my surface and feel the pain of billions of such life forms as they slowly fade out of existence, my core erupting at every moment is what has made my shell so thick and given me the ability to support further life
A box of matchsticks, with each matchstick's head being rubbed against me as it erupts into flames and slowly burns down to ash and cinder
I've been a macho soldier in space blowing up monstrous creatures of disproportionate proportions with gigantic claws and humongous jaws
I've been lived as the creator and guided the evolution of a sea of pebbles through their voyage and to their destination as grains of sand
A spec of dust as it floats from place to place, sits in dark attics for eons till the cleaning lady dusts me off of the rusty old lamp and I fly out of the open window, only to be caught by a passing gust of wind and swept towards the next town where I become one with the earth of which I emerged.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC