when things are upside down
Things that are upside-down are not more confusing.
They are simply less easy to understand.
Regular love is a battlefield, a force of two egos, clambering,
Struggling, fighting for the moments that make the heart
No longer able to be sustained by the constraints of the chest.
Upside-down love is simply not this poetic.
It is a yellow legal pad of words and symbols that appear
Written in a foreign tongue, with no comprehension by either party.
It is the space between words.
It is the blacked-out portions of a secret, top-clearance file.
It is a cinder block.
It is the splinter that you get when sanding down the
Wood to be used on your new deck next week.
It is dishevelment when you wake up and realize that you’ve
Slept in your clothes from the day before.
Regular anger is a fire that burns softly, until an event
Triggers something, embraces the spark, fuels the flame.
Upside-down anger is putting your socks on backwards,
The little pouch of heel that sits on top of your foot.
It is spelling the word “clock.”
It is a pale seafoam on the walls, lilac on the furniture,
And cerulean on the baseboards.
It is a hairline fracture running the length of a hall of mirrors.
It is the frantic trembling of one’s fifth toe.