"proportionally" poems
I was raised in a house that seemed big on the inside
With a garden that was larger than the rest of the earth.
My bedroom was shared. But there was more than enough room.
So proportionally, I always felt small.
The curtains were vines in a furniture jungle
The bookcase a tower of riddles.
I used to spend my days inside the wardrobe
Because I heard there were whole worlds inside of them.
The sofa was a cloud, I liked to sink into it.
The bathtub an ocean, that I was constantly floating adrift in.
The TV screen might as well have been
A stage compared to me when I was younger.
Even the cupboard was a cavernous place, my sparrowbone limbs
Would fold up only slightly, but still there would always be too much space.
Space blank as a bullet hole
Like the gaps between stars.
An absence you're constantly falling through. When you're so tiny,
And surrounded by nothingness, its easy to forget that you're not nothing too.
I was compressed in the classroom behind a scrawl splattered desk
The lines of graffiti looked mammoth.
The teachers were giants
And I was just jack
They ground up my brains to make alphabet stew
And gave me only a handful of A, B's and C's back.
The playground was Olympus, I was acting atlas
I felt as though the whole world was on my shoulders.
See I was a really loud kid, always shouting out
Because I thought that was the only way to get anyone to hear me.
Lungs like an opera singer by the age of just nine
And in the habit of using embellishment.
I've been where you've been kid,
I've seen it all.
I know exactly how the sight of a bullies hand-down button-up
Can be enough to make you choke...
Sometimes it still is enough.
And I know I don't look so tiny now
I expanded as I grew more constricted.
Trying to compensate for the empty place,
I had made a habit of occupying.
See I understand, I know
But I promise you, one day you'll stop standing under things
Find your feet and grow.
The leaves of your family tree do not define
Who you'll be
You do not have to hold up those branches all alone.
And I know I look so small right now
But in here, in here
I'm mammoth.
And I promise the world is not so nothing filled
When everyone is giant.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC
Man in the subway
do you have a purpose
is it to make music
or to make others sing
the song of the subway as
the trains screech by
everyone
ignores you completely
throwing money proportionally
into your jar based
on their income and
more importantly
based on their morals.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
the lunacy that is foreseenfrom the eccentric glowof what we affix as attentivewaves in contracted honesty pulling for a dualitydespite our trained individualitywith this intended dissension we are seeking comfort pushing within our fortifiedfacades dwelling, foretellingmelodic expressions revealing a need for innocenceto run proportionally with socratic thought
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 2:31 PM UTC
Love a four letter word
thousand feelings
millions of expressions
only for one human being
love has eternal meanings
some are deep
mostly shallow
but my love
is only for this human being
I will love thy epic proportionally
and endless proportionally
Oct 30, 2014
Oct 30, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
today I drew a girl
with long brown curly hair
but I had to etch her out
for I was tired of her stare
the girl lived in a perfect world
she had a perfect life
there was no pain or anger
or bitterness or strife
and since she saw my secrets
she I couldn’t trust
she wrinkled up her perfect nose
and looked back with disgust
she looked right through my grand facade
pulled back the heavy curtain
she riddled out my clockwork
and knew I wasn’t certain
she saw my mind was clouded
from all in this rainy world
all the thirst and hunger
the girl quickly unfurled
she saw the fear and hatred
the terror and the scare
all of varying grandeur
plaguing everywhere
and she saw right through my crooked smile
all though my cup was filled
it still was full of emptiness
and that disgusted her
she wondered why I worried
as she looked right through my eyes
at my mediocre problems
in my easy sailing life
and she knew that I was selfish
as all people seemed to be
and laughed at all my problems
so small, yet huge to me
but what she didn’t understand
is that sometimes we get stuck
for sometimes, in all out lives
people run out of luck
so no matter how tiny
so small our troubles seem
you can’t treat them proportionally
for all problems are real
today I drew a girl
with long brown curly hair
I could feel her look right at me
with her penetrating stare
and in her world, she was perfect
but that could never be
she was drowned in her own prejudice
so much, she couldn’t see
so tired of the perfect girl
who pretended not to care
I etched out her judgement
and her agonizing stare
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
When Archimedes jumped out of his bathtub
Shouting ‘Eureka’ naked down the streets,
He had finally found a way to uncover
The deceit on behalf of His Majesty’s goldsmith.
Had he stolen gold replacing it with silver
While carving the divine wreath commissioned by the Tyrant?
The Golden Crown of Syracuse to be placed on the head
Of a goddess to be tested without being disturbed.
It all began with overflow as he dipped his body in water.
It was evident and easy to observe
That some objects floated while others sank,
Occupying more or less, tri-dimensional space.
Fluids rejecting or enveloping the intruder,
Displaced proportionally to the latter’s
Volume, density and mass, led to the revolutionary
Discovery of buoyancy, sparkling new beginnings.
The understanding suggested, that if an object displaced
An amount of water heavier than its weight, it would float.
The opposite being true, an object displacing
An amount of water lighter than its weight, would sink.
Fluid’s volition to reclaim its legitimate space.
Although the system was unable to assess the fraud,
As shape came into account and a kilo of solid gold
Was smaller than the kilo of golden wrath,
Dipped into water discrepancy ignored the math.
Unpredictably, the genius found higher purposes,
Buoyancy to determine whether a steel ship would sink
Or float, make it through the Mediterranean and beyond,
Where the Pillars of Hercules warn sailors to go no further.
Non plus ultra to the realms of the unknown.
The understanding suggesting that if an object displaced
An amount of water heavier than its weight, it would float,
Bigger volumes, lower densities, empty hulls and ballasts,
Succeeded in opening the gates to new oceans and new worlds.
Buoyancy to explain why our bodies float at sea
Apparently rejected by expelling waters claiming back their territory.
Gases being fluids, air acts the same,
With the extraordinary result that a kilo of feathers
Is indeed lighter that a kilo of lead.
By 0,9 grams.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC
Here it is
coming together
slowly and quickly
points being connected
connections being disappointed
disappointments being appointed
appointed proportionally and
disproportionally
click clack
stick it together
vertices criss cross
bricks and feathers
interlacing lines and
concentric circles dance
in and out of time it is a
convergence
a coming together
a going apart
it is silk spun in
every way you can think of
it is spit spat from every mouth you've ever heard
this blob of tip tap gloopy gloop tick tack
criss cross criss cross make it last
make it first
on the bus or in the hearse
in between or outside of
either way it's kind of
all the same and
very different
but look at that
and then it's not
a ghost in the periphery
a shadow in the center
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
my legs are unshaven
somewhere between rabbit and goat
my thighs are muscled
more so now than ever
my face is freckled proportionally
with just the right amount of jawline
my feet are bony, like my hands,
long and strong
my torso melts into my legs and shoulders
my whole body is masculine
everything I am is built and molded
my heart is a knight, sun, yang
I dream of rocketing my person over obstacles
like someone who is not bound by estrogen
and having my abs ripple as I tear my
shirt off
grabbing it from the top of the back rather than
the awkward twisting thing
I am a man masquerading in a woman's body
admittedly, a tall, masculine-looking woman
but it still feels like it doesn't fit
like a temporary home
that was painted without you knowing
and everything shifted over to the left
three inches
and you know something is not right,
and I'm looking around, asking,
where are my wings?
where is my golden curly hair?
where is the fire in my eyes?
where is the easy athletic ability?
where is my old body?
why am I here?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 8:31 AM UTC
I hate your eyes.
They're so big. They stare.
They mock me so.
They laugh.
You're so scared of being a good person.
It's so much easier for you to manipulate
Why feel when they give so freely?
Because they want your body. Your perfect curves.
That smile, those perfect crescent moons just below
The beautiful frequency notated collar bone
Etched and perfectly carved below your neck
Proportionally exact to the beauty we envision
During fantasies and action flicks and tabloids
Your face, the face of a star
A star-fucker.
Force you out. You are no longer what I desire.
Hilariously enough, I am no longer saying it for you
It's for me. It always was, in a way. But now...
There can only be one.
This town isn't big enough for the two of us.
So hurry up and do what you swore to do
For so long.
Run. Leave.
Go.
We're forcing you out.
Command.
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 2:01 PM UTC
At first, it was a pleasant adventure
but the trainer is not that easy on me
I swear I must be some kind of a ******
who is proportionally unfocussed
and over-processing unidirectionally
should I just stand like a marching frog?
and leap where the primal instinct leads me
or punch like a perfectionist in a constant orbit
At last, it is something that I need to stick to
but the trainer is not that easy on me
I swear the strength within will gather
and awake the deadened practical sense
to some Phoenix that cyclically degenerates
punching those pads in a total disarray
with strength, persistence and sleek control
until it all sets in my mind, soul and body
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 6:43 AM UTC
Flowers bloom next to rusting Pepsi cans,
Watered by the spit of ******* dealers,
And the ***** and vaginal fluid,
Of hot lovers groping under blankets,
Under stars dimly blinking through thick smog.
Nightly haven for muggers, rapists, fiends,
Whose every breath profanes the species they,
So poorly represent, turning Plato’s,
Featherless bipeds, to dead plucked chickens,
Soul-less, pointless wastes of protoplasm.
Abomination-- not in itself but,
For the use it’s put to: a bone for dogs,
Who’ve never tasted steak, and are gleeful,
To feast upon the scraps of fetid meat,
Clinging to well-gnawed bones that they are fed.
Central Park, the bone we are to chew while,
Smiling complacently at skyscrapers,
Daily rising where wild flowers might have grown,
Our humanity proportionally,
Shrinking inversely to their daily rise.
If I seem narrow minded and unkind,
Or blind to the beauty of Central Park,
It is because I’ve stood on ****** ground,
In summer, fall, winter and early spring,
And cannot bring myself to love a *****
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 12:00 AM UTC
My foetal days are full of blindness
Akin to this, my void days will be full of darkness
My world will be shut in despair
As heaven webs are ravaged beyond repair
The murky silence grasps my soul in the womb
And releases it in my stone tomb
My beginning and end are proportionally designed
The end claims unending life therefore my beginning chose i to resigned
Written by
Martin Ijir
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 10:57 AM UTC