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#upsidedown
If you contained the creative curiosity that fills my skin I think your poem would go something like this most girls smile and twist their hips but my baby smiles upside down freckled dimples and cinnamon hair skinny curves I can’t help but stare our story feels upside down but nothing else has ever felt so right
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Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 10:21 PM UTC
UPSIDE DOWN
upside down, you turn me, inside out. my guts spill out, the same way my love for you once did. my heart stops beating, the same way it did, when you broke it in two. my eyes turn inside out, like they did when you hurt me, so i could stop myself from seeing your faults.
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Dec 7, 2025
Dec 7, 2025 at 2:12 AM UTC
guts
You use your cleanest rag to clean a mess An antiseptic swab to clean a wound And the softest strongest to wipe your **** Only the strong can be burdened Only the living bleeds when cut And a tree withered to its roots still lives The poor illustrates the folly of greed The outcasts reveal the pretence of good And the chosen shattered that evil's judged
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Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 10:27 PM UTC
Not as it Seems
In a forest without trees Where only a buzz is heard, not seen She laid on black ground Her belly up and her face down She stared at the missing stars Empty spaces of used up light, now just scars Bathing in a sea of mud She lifted her hands and saw blood LIFE she thought, so from the ****** muddy pulp A melting body she tried to sculpt To bring to life from the wet dirt A being to love her, although formed in a chaotic birth To fill the voids with light and sense Instead, a being stood, made of nonsense Upsidebackwords and a grievous grin For which she hugged dispute the sin Pretending that light magically appeared Knowing it was only her sanity that disappeared Upsidebackwords and a spinning head She would be okay here, amongst the dead Living in an empty chaos was better than not So she gave up what she had originally sought Spent her life in the upsidebackwords, and forgot That she created this being to aid her escape, but it was all for not.
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Mar 24, 2020
Mar 24, 2020 at 2:40 PM UTC
Upsidebackwords
ʎɐʞo slǝǝɟ ƃuᴉɥʇou punoɹɐ pǝddᴉlɟ puɐ uʍop ǝpᴉsdn lǝǝɟ ᴉ
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Jan 24, 2020
Jan 24, 2020 at 5:39 AM UTC
Note 315:
Upside-down and unconditioned I climbed my tower. Sprinkled my flecks and dodges. Wistful-eyed, in soul surrender with my twin wild roses, I grew. Sunset in mauve near sparked attention cop politician any progressive crew and all the while I whinnied to the moon. Before the door was broken into under-rooms had shut, had disappeared. Streaks of starlight filled the streets and sailing, flew. This is way the desert sings tra-la-tra-lee. Tra-lee-la.
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Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 9:06 PM UTC
Upside Down
Just like that I fell I fell into your arms Wrapped around my skeletal body Wrapped around my soul You held my heart so tight As tears fell right on top And burnt my skin My blood raging in fury And demons circulating in my veins It happened so suddenly I shut my eyes and when i opened them uʍop ǝpısdn sɐʍ ƃuıɥʇʎɹǝʌǝ
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Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 3:58 AM UTC
uʍop ǝpısdn
Paper planes, falling down, down— down. Into the starlight, that is upside down. In my heart, it’s beating one, two— three. The street lights are blinking, in the upside, down. My world is red, it's shadows. Raven black. The treetops are swaying, in the upside, down. Black on red, it’s pattern tartan plaid. Who’ll be my lover? In the upside, down. As above, so below. Touch me until my bones grow cold. I am a dream so, shut your eyes. And hold me close— in the upside, down. Till the music stops playing, and the sheet music is scrolled across my lungs. As though nothing could fail in the upside, down.
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Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
The Upside Down
Backwards; maybe I'm not upside down I'm looking for a new perspective When you are down; you're really up So perk up; all is well
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Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC
Downside Up
Sometimes, Being strong is lonely Happiness is obligation Love is slavery. Being alone is freedom Tears are relieving Hatred is bravery. Nights are beautiful Nights are intimate Warm sun stings in the eye Falling is freeing Falling is beginning Earthy land against the dusty sky Stars, with their borrowed light, Are more hopeful Than the moon and all of the nigh Than all of people Than you And I
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Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC
Asmanjhas
I left Marcus Aurelius on the coffee table, Stumbled and caught myself in the mirror. Only to tumble on down through the fridge. I was seated on air as a guest of honor. Feed my wisdom, drank my creativity. Finally breathed in your soul, As I crawled up the bed to tuck myself next to you. I sighed and began to dream again.
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May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
Marcus Aurelius
have you ever cried upside down? felt the tears stream up your face down with gravity and into all the wrong places? felt the droplets, cooling as they race away from their mirrored origin, slide over furrowed brow across forehead and temple to dampen the sliver-thin hairs— the ones that glow when lit from behind —and rest where skin meets strand? no you have not felt these things how could you have? your world is always right side up.
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Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 4:10 PM UTC
crying upside down
Once upon a time I Cried in agony As the mornings solemn tune Reminded me. When I hid as a child I mostly hid from the Monsters Under my bed. How can I Ever become a better version of myself? By looking at my past mistakes And learning something new. Part of the world is gone And another part is cruel And I belong To the unexplored oceans blue In a rush My heart is always telling me To act, to yell To be alive with every cell. If I saw it, I would know it Since it always lingers In my mind Most of the time I demand attention from my chosen family Because I want them to know That they're what makes me happy. An upside down tree Showing that I'm in Wonderland. Like the singer who said, "Sometimes it's just plain stupid to get into any kind of wind." He must have known That wind will blow And shape something new. In this world, I'm not sure why, But I have a suspicion I'm not alone.
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Jul 16, 2017
Jul 16, 2017 at 4:19 AM UTC
Topsie Turvie
Skip stones until the reflection is unknown, and drown. Lungs pumping oxygen, and twice as much hydrogen now. Before you realize, the world is what's upside-down.
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Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
Aquaréal
Money, fame, worldly securities. If you have them you will never need Faith, hope, love, and things like these, You should only seek out the important things Which gives life true meaning. Family, friends, beliefs and dreams, All that is nice, but a good life requires Power acquired, fulfilled ****** desire, fortune transpired. Life will surely continue and be pleasant without Anything abstract or intangible, no doubt. The finer things in life always come from A bigger this, a newer that, a stable income. Just look at what the people at the top own; Money can buy happiness 'til the day you die And yet people still buy into the lie Living for others is not a wasted life. It's a truth that should trickle from the top-down, But what if these words were read the other way around.
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Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 10:26 AM UTC
Up↓//Down↑
You're right. The world's not black anymore. But it's still looking grey. Okay. It isn't night anymore. But it surely isn't day. The world isn't upside down anymore. But I'm still not looking straight. The door isn't locked up tight anymore. But it's still a locked up gate. I might not be standing still anymore, But I'm still not ready to run. My finger isn't on the trigger anymore. But I haven't put down my gun. You may not see me cry anymore. But you still don't see me grin. No, I'm not shutting you out anymore. But I'm still not letting you in. I'm shaking hands with the darkness. And I'm shaking hands with the light. But I can't let go of either, Or they'll see each other and fight. Don't assume that Because I don't sink anymore, That I must be flying. Just because I'm not dead anymore, Doesn't mean that I'm not dying.
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May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
Progression
"Be the change you wish to see in the world"... But I was born upside down and instead I am all the things I know I need to change, but don't.
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Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 4:38 PM UTC
Don't Complain About all the Things You Choose not to Change
*What? No. This can't be happening, yes, My world, Is upside down And topsy turvy And spinning And spinning What? No. Help. Please. What? No. No? What.*
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Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
What? No.
In paradise the ocean is the sky Where the birds swim by And fish fly from tree to tree Trying to not bother a single bee Starfish light up the night That sure is an astounding sight Sea horses gallop through mountains They all go their own ways Butterflies flutter around kissing corals To get a taste of their sweet succulent nectar This is paradise And the ocean is the sky In this world that is upside down
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Mar 27, 2015
Mar 27, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
Paradise
It's one of those days I can't make sense of my thoughts and quite frankly it's ******* me off. I don't even know what I want anymore. I say one thing and do another And I know it makes no sense but I can't help my senselessness. I'm drowning in my indecision and my desire for difference. And really I feel defeated. But I swear will not be.
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Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 4:38 AM UTC
my mind spins on days like this
Kissing upside-down. At first it seems like a fun idea. (If spiderman can, we can, right?) But ultimately, it's clumsy And awkward. They say opposites attract But when my top lip And your bottom lip Try to match up together, There's no denying, It doesn't quite fit. A crash-collision. With him it was like kissing upside-down: Cool for a while But the top and bottom just don't match Quite like they do right-side up, And it lost its novelty at a steady pace. Two different halves don't always make a whole. Sometimes it's two of the same. Kissing her is like kissing regular. I don't mean regular-regular. I mean over the moon, Past the stars, Around the universe and back again regular. I mean running so fast you think your legs Might fall out from under you And you might learn to fly regular. I mean spinning in circles On an old tire swing Until you reach that moment when you forget where you are And feel the rotation of your organs So you stop to watch the world swirl before you Putting everything out of perspective regular. As unique as 'normal' could possibly exist. I guess For me, Him and her Just didn't seem to fit The same way She and her Does. And I don't think I'll be kissing anyone Upside-down again For a while.
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Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
Metaphor
I trace my finger around. With red lipstick on I wear the skin of the pets I had, looking like a marigold shot through the head, my bare skin is barbed in the back. Such trouble and quiet with the wrap-around, the cross-walk, and floral shop as I browse. The white elephant in the upstairs bedroom, is making it hard for every one of us to sleep. With this Africa becomes a disease, that I unwrap from a cotton white sheet. When I breathe life is going good, under the spells of wicked and word. I like to call out in the night, so with no response I can plead for the courage to think; all the suburban philistines try to help me, but I can't tell a joke because I cannot read. Every thing amounts to being fat. Or liquidated in the most pathetic singles party for Karl Lagerfeld. Numb fingers slur the words as I type telephone numbers that end in threes. I see a notice to be called upon, but it's hard to remember what day it is when your job only pays you in financial advice, "Don't do as I do, but please just do what I say." And I can smell that. The approach that a hunter brews in his midnight solemn cup of tea. Where a voice chimes in while a mouse runs out, dragging the corners of my eyes in a lagging meme, it doesn't do well to even be yourself sometimes, once while traveling I couldn't see. Come that morning I had left my hotel pass inside my favorite pants, black denim toting paint from a ******** shot, a picture that explains my disease. The fifty inch fan hums an anonymous tune that when I turn quickly towards it becomes this feral baboon. And is it hardly based on fact or is it the illusions and the myths that Christopher Robins struck inside of me. With his griseous hands made of soot and of gouache, that worshipped animals that wear clothes outside. And even sometimes there are z's that transform into other creatures that hum real fast and talk out loud in nursery rhymes, a Whatsit and a Woozel are totally, too much for me. I turn the fan off and lay back down, and fight the world off with hands from another guy, much braver than I who doesn't even have tattoos but he's the top wordsmith from Buckingham. What a beautiful treat and such a magnificent surprise that the elephant lays down to die. Of course that's when my mouth dries up with smoke and my voice turns into the vanilla flavoring that everyone hates, and then too I felt like laying down to die. But I'm not 97 like I had thought I'm quite sure that I'm still alive. The white moon shines into my bedroom window at night and I pretend that I direct for the sky.
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Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
Not 97 I Surmise
I trace my finger around. With red lipstick on I wear the skin of the pets I had, looking like a marigold shot through the head, my bare skin is barbed in the back. Such trouble and quiet with the wrap-around, the cross-walk, and floral shop as I browse. The white elephant in the upstairs bedroom, is making it hard for every one of us to sleep. With this Africa becomes a disease, that I unwrap from a cotton white sheet. When I breathe life is going good, under the spells of wicked and word. I like to call out in the night, so with no response I can plead for the courage to think; all the suburban philistines try to help me, but I can't tell a joke because I cannot read. Every thing amounts to being fat. Or liquidated in the most pathetic singles party for Karl Lagerfeld. Numb fingers slur the words as I type telephone numbers that end in threes. I see a notice to be called upon, but it's hard to remember what day it is when your job only pays you in financial advice, "Don't do as I do, but please just do what I say." And I can smell that. The approach that a hunter brews in his midnight solemn cup of tea. Where a voice chimes in while a mouse runs out, dragging the corners of my eyes in a lagging meme, it doesn't do well to even be yourself sometimes, once while traveling I couldn't see. Come that morning I had left my hotel pass inside my favorite pants, black denim toting paint from a ******** shot, a picture that explains my disease. The fifty inch fan hums an anonymous tune that when I turn quickly towards it becomes this feral baboon. And is it hardly based on fact or is it the illusions and the myths that Christopher Robins struck inside of me. With his griseous hands made of soot and of gouache, that worshipped animals that wear clothes outside. And even sometimes there are z's that transform into other creatures that hum real fast and talk out loud in nursery rhymes, a Whatsit and a Woozel are totally, too much for me. I turn the fan off and lay back down, and fight the world off with hands from another guy, much braver than I who doesn't even have tattoos but he's the top wordsmith from Buckingham. What a beautiful treat and such a magnificent surprise that the elephant lays down to die. Of course that's when my mouth dries up with smoke and my voice turns into the vanilla flavoring that everyone hates, and then too I felt like laying down to die. But I'm not 97 like I had thought I'm quite sure that I'm still alive. The white moon shines into my bedroom window at night and I pretend that I direct for the sky.
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