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Up is Down

By @annasoc5

Up is Down

Sometimes up is down.

Books have no words and paint brushes leave silent tracks.

Eyes open when they’re closed behind translucent lids.

The air tastes like firecrackers and I think my tongue is missing.

Sometimes up is down.

Air fills my lungs when I’m thirsty and when I’m hungry my fingerprints are florescent lights.

Fingernails are branches of the tallest evergreen in Washington state.

Candles smell like sunlight and my feet are invisible.

Sometimes up is down.

My knuckles are barren deserts, empty and full of answers

But I don’t ask them questions.

Skin is inside out, vitals exposed to any nearby predators.

I’m cold and my hair won’t hug me back.

Sometimes up is down.

My voice is a dry-erase board and the pen only writes in reverse.

Ears are like pool filters, except they push the bad stuff back out

So they’re more like armpits.

Sometimes up is down.

And that’s okay.

Nothing makes sense to me, but it’s all so obvious.

I’m that balloon you let go at your fifth birthday party

Floating at the edge of the atmosphere, waiting to pop

Rocks and Coke, Mentos and Pepsi,

I’m erupting backwards.

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