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About Deviant Member Synesthi19/Female/United States Group :iconspreading-awareness: Spreading-Awareness
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Poetry Book Scribble Icon OFFICIAL by DrippingWords

First off, this is my first critique, so the use of the stars was somewhat arbitrary. I'll try to be more specific in the body. Vision:...


My newest piece (But there will be screaming) refers to the reason that I've been gone lately. 

If you have questions/would like to talk, please message me.

It's going to be okay.



It's going to be okay...



Once upon a time, a house stood against the edge of the woods. Birds often flew around the house, and wild creatures would pick their way throughout the lawn without a care.

The house belonged to a couple, and a lovely couple they were. There was the father who was hard-working, and the mother who was strong and fearless, and one day they had a little girl. The little girl was beautiful and sensitive and kind, and grew up to be even more sensitive and kind as the years passed. Some days she was so sensitive that it seemed her heart would break.

But not everything was perfect in the little house, and this particular day the house stands empty and silent except for the sound of quiet crying. It’s not sobbing, for that would be a too rough and insensitive a sound for the girl. It was merely a periodic sniffle followed by some heavy breathing. The girl wipes her eyes on her sleeve and stares into a cup of over-steeped tea. She often spent her afternoons this way, and her neighbors and parents were very distraught over the change.

A knock startles her, and she looks towards the front door, contemplating answering it, wondering if was yet another kindly neighbor coming with something to help make her well. For all her neighbors were kindly, and often came to bring her things to make her happy and kind and sensitive once more.

Before the girl can make a decision, the doorknob turns and the door swings open. An old lady stands in the doorway, peering around the corner, an old-fashioned cloak around her shoulders and a shawl over her head. “Oh, there you are, dear. Is anyone else home?”

The girl shakes her head. Her parents were off to see a man who could try to make her well. “Who are you?”

“Me? Oh, just an old woman. Some would say I’m a witch. Some say I’m an angel. Depends on who’s doing the talking.” She closes the door gently behind her, her hands old and wrinkled. “But if you’re undecided, I guess you can call me Su.”

The girl nods and looks back into her tea. Su sits down at the table.

“Over-steeped your tea? Don’t worry, if you keep crying it will balance itself out eventually. Trust me,” she says, a smile crinkling her old, worn face. “I would know.”

The girl looks up with wet eyes. “What do you want? My parents aren’t here.”

“Oh, dear, I know that. That’s why I’ve come. You see, I live nearby and I can hear your crying every time they leave. I figured I’d stop by and see you. Now,” she reaches out for the girl’s hand. “What are you crying about?”

“It’s nothing,” the girl says, wiping at her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry in front of yet another kindly neighbor coming to help her feel better.

“Now, that’s what they all say, don’t they? Your friends, telling you that you have ‘nothing to cry about’?” The girl nods, for it seemed to her that perhaps someone had said such a thing, though she could not truly remember. “Well, that’s not very nice. I wouldn’t call those people friends, if I were you. Friends should be supportive, don’t you think? I don’t think you should be around them. They aren’t going to help you feel better. Don’t you think?”

The girl looks the old woman in her dark eye, believing more and more that one of her dear friends had been so unkind. “I suppose not…”

“That’s a love. Why don’t you and I become friends, dear? Believe me, I know all about it. I’ll never tell you not to cry.”

The girl considers the offer. “All right.”

“There, don’t you feel better?’ Su pats her hand gently. “Well, I have to go, but I’ll come back to visit when you’re alone again, okay?” She gets up from the table. “Bye, dear.”


The girl sits in her bedroom, looking out the window towards the creek. The creek’s all dried up, and she watches animals come and go, searching for water. She wonders if the rains will come, but it was often sunny in the little town in the woods.

“Hello, dear.” Su is standing in her doorway, her shawl wrapped around her.

“I was just thinking about you,” the girl whispers.

“Oh, I know,” the old woman comes and sits on the edge of the bed, patting the quilt next to her. “Are those friends of yours still giving you trouble?”

“They aren’t my friends,” the girl says seriously as she sits down. She remembers now, remembers the things that they said, and her kind heart fills with sadness.

Su smiles. “I agree. I’m sure that’s difficult, dear, but you’ll be much better off with a friend that understands you. And I do understand you.”

The girl nods. “I know.”

“Where are those parents of yours?” Su asks gently.

“They’re busy,” the girl responds. They were out again, to find a potion that could make her well. “But I don’t mind. I like it when the house is quiet.”

“Isn’t the silence peaceful?” The old woman gives the girl a careful look. “Don’t you just wish there was somewhere you could go where it was always peaceful?” The girl nods. “Of course you do.

“Do you remember how I said that people call me a witch? Now, I’m no witch, but I do make good offers. Well, perhaps I can be a nice witch, if you think about it. What would you say if I told you I could teach you how to always feel this peaceful? What would you say if I could promise that you’d never feel sad again?”

The girl turns to her, hopeful. “Can you teach me?”

“Of course, darling. But there’s something you have to do as well. It’s nothing much, just your part. And it has to be a secret. Can you promise me that?”

The girl nods. “Just tell me what to do.”

“Okay,” Su says, leaning in close. “I’ll tell you. And if you’ll do it, and you do it in three days, I promise that you’ll never suffer again.”


Su meets her briefly when her parents go out for the groceries the next day, getting bread from the baker and meat from the butcher. “Hello, darling, how goes it?”

The girl sits up at her desk. “Don’t worry, I’ll be done soon.”

Su smiles. “That’s a good girl. But you have plenty of time, so do it well. We want it to be your best work, right darling? Plenty of time.”

The girl frowns for a second. “Are you positive that this will work?”

Su’s face clouds over. “Why? Have you broken your promise? Have you told someone?”

“No, no, of course not. I would never!”

“Of course you haven’t,” the old woman replies, her face smoothing out. “You would never. You promised. And of course it will work. Think of all of this, all the sadness…think of it like a curse. All you have to do is do your part, and the curse will be lifted. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Of course,” the girl responds. “More than anything. I want it to go away.”

Su strokes her hair. “And it shall. I promise.”


The next day, the old woman comes in the dead of night. “Dear, you have one more day. Are you ready? Do you have all the parts that you need to break the spell?”

“Yes, I do,” the girl whispers in response. “I have it all in the box underneath my bed.”

“Good girl. And it’s still a secret?”

“Of course.”

Su smiles in the darkness. “See you tomorrow, dearest.”


The girl and the old woman named Su sit on the edge of the bed.


The girl looks at the contents of the box and the sheet of paper. “Are you sure it will work?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Su whispers. “I’m the one who loved you. I’m the one who has looked after you. Not like your friends. Not like your parents, they don’t even care about you either, do they?”

The girl thinks about her parents, and seems to recall them being less kind, less honest and truthful and hardworking, her neighbors less kindly. “No, they don’t care. I trust you…. I only trust you.”

“Good. Now, are you ready?”

“Promise that it’ll stop?”

The old woman who is perhaps a witch smiles and draws her tattered shawl closer. “I promise. Now, the potion.”

“Okay.” The girl opens her mouth and swallows


The ambulance roars up the little driveway, scattering the little creatures, and the kindly neighbors looked over the fences with kindly concern as the stretcher hauls the girl out, her parents weeping in the doorway of the nice house on the edge of the woods.

Meanwhile, the old witch laughs from her house in the woods and waits for the sound of crying.
The Breaking of the Spell
I attempted to write a fairy tale and made this instead.

Okay then.
My newest piece (But there will be screaming) refers to the reason that I've been gone lately. 

If you have questions/would like to talk, please message me.

It's going to be okay.



It's going to be okay...

There’s a man over there with
a police-man hat and a
white lab coat and he is
neither of those

He crawls inside the phone
and sneaks towards my ear.
A woman with a surgical mask
but no license is holding
a zipper.

The empty room swims.
Hold my breath and be

We play with a deck
of cards.

The zipper is in a pocket
that is in the other room, but
I can hear the whispers.
The phone is a snake
and waits for me.

We need a signature.
we need a-
you okay?

I’m fi-
I’m f-


They take photos of my
jeans and say
it’ll just be a second.

My head throbs and
my eye bruises.






I want to get the dirt
off but we’re not
finished yet.

I want to go

Can you tell us more
about what he
looked like?

Head on the pavement,
head snaps back,
hands at the zipper

No! NO! NO!


It’s heart and then
club and then
diamond and then

Heart and then…
heart and..



Officers are on the way
is there anyone with
you please stay near
the call light.


Heart and then
diamond and then…

Have to talk to the
phone but I

I want to go home

Talk to the man
on the phone.


You need to be
don’t tell anyone,
they’ll worry.

Go to the ER?
Keep quiet.
Not worth worry.

Promise and you can
go home.


Heart and then…
and then…

You can go clean up.


I want to go home.


The woman at the table
presses the zipper
to my lips
and zips it close.

Do you want
to go home now?

Can’t tell them.
They’ll worry.


Your pants were on
the whole
time, right?

(Hands at zipper
NO. NO.)



Let’s go home.

(Heart and then…)

you can't tell anyone.
(Insufficient evidence)
(needless worry).



Zipper to my lips.


Come on, let’s go home.
But there will be screaming
It's been over a month…so why is it still yesterday?

And to those who have been concerned: It didn't happen. I got away.
Once upon a time in a
story book with
the last page torn out….

There was a tower made of
brick and stone and
bones and
coat hangers laid sideways and
the wrong side of an eraser.

The tower was lonely and
ate them up like

That was yesterday.

Now the air is cold and
the ground is hard.

And soot, soot like ash,
ash like tears in the air.
The tower burnt in
parchment scraps and
we're on the past page.

That's tomorrow.

And I will be today,
wring its neck like
washcloths full of blood and
I hate it
it hurts me

and get kicked back
on the ground because
yesterday isn't over yet.

I'm running out of
paper, this is
my last page.

And the ink will be
fire, be blood.
You'll see it tomorrow.
But because I can,
I will burn today.
The bricks will be called down
above me like stones lifted
before a storm

and I must tie my shoelaces
to the table to keep from
standing with the
yank-tug of my legs against an
oblivion without a carpet

so says the prophet

There is rust in my elbows
and in my throat and
the voices will cry out into
the night like sadness-gone

The oval in my hand is sanity
gone wild, and if I stare
long enough it opens its eyes
and looks at me
I am as you should be
and I close my eyes
and pray

so says the prophet

The world is tip-toe
on the edge of a mistake,

I am one coin-flip from
reversal, we go spinning
back in time

and maybe it is better that way.

They all are shadows dressed up
in ripped jeans and confidence
and they will tear me up
with nails made of circles

so says the prophet

We are all tubes
and the containers on the desk
hold me,
but one day I will break

so says the prophet

so says me


Synesthi's Profile Picture
United States
I am a Synesthete (the term for someone who has synesthesia) and enjoy writing (prose and poetry), long-distance running, and playing music. My username is another (less formal) term for someone with synesthesia.

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copper9lives Featured By Owner Nov 7, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
:wave: Hello, and welcome to :iconpoetryparadise:!

We're happy to have you aboard! If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, please :note: the group and your friendly neighborhood admins will get back to you ASAP.

Currently, we're hosting a monthly contest — check it out!

nightshade-keyblade Featured By Owner May 23, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Synesthi Featured By Owner May 23, 2014
Edges-to-Everything Featured By Owner May 23, 2014
A very Happy Birthday to you! :nod:

- Michael
Synesthi Featured By Owner May 23, 2014
91816119 Featured By Owner May 23, 2014   Writer
Happy birthday, sweetie! Have a fantastic day, and a fantastic year. :heart:

Synesthi Featured By Owner May 23, 2014
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner May 11, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Meghan, I found your lines in GITM, and now I must admit I'm not crying but I'm not *not crying ... lol. I found it so touching what you wrote about my voice, and the reiterations that I don't need my eyes to heal, or create art, or live a fulfilling life, definitely link up with your opening and closing remarks in the recording you sent me. This means a lot ... thank you so much. :iconheartglompplz:
Synesthi Featured By Owner May 11, 2014
I'm glad. And you're so welcome.

Edges-to-Everything Featured By Owner May 2, 2014
Hello! :handshake:

I'd love to get your feedback on the changes being made at Spreading-Awareness :nod: Thanks!

- Michael
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