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About Deviant Synesthi20/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:...

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I turned 20 today.

A year ago, I wrote a journal entry titled '19' which discussed my stalker, my depression, and my fears regarding the coming year.

In general, this year has been very hard, but I've been making it. I've been surviving.

I know I haven't been posting a lot of stuff, and so my page have sort of died. People don't come around here as often, it's a little lonely. But I hope to soon be starting up more! I'm home from college and have had time to recuperate, so maybe I'll be around more. And I hope to see you all around here more! 

Anyway, I just wanted to update everyone. I'm still here, I'm still alive, and I hope to be more here and more alive soon.

See you around!

~Synesthi

Activity


I turned 20 today.

A year ago, I wrote a journal entry titled '19' which discussed my stalker, my depression, and my fears regarding the coming year.

In general, this year has been very hard, but I've been making it. I've been surviving.

I know I haven't been posting a lot of stuff, and so my page have sort of died. People don't come around here as often, it's a little lonely. But I hope to soon be starting up more! I'm home from college and have had time to recuperate, so maybe I'll be around more. And I hope to see you all around here more! 

Anyway, I just wanted to update everyone. I'm still here, I'm still alive, and I hope to be more here and more alive soon.

See you around!

~Synesthi
The light from the backyard neighbor
is on, a fish tank light with no soft water.
It draws a hard line up the side of your face
and you wince like it’s painful. Being seen
is painful, eyes on your mouth when you talk,
shoulders when you walk…

You sit up in the bed, pulling your knees to your
chest and squeezing, your fingers making dents
in the side of your calves. It is
starting to feel like they were always there.

It’s May and warm and you’re not wearing pants but
you want to be but
the light is watching
and so you sit and feel naked (unseemly, inappropriate) in your
shirt and your underwear and your bruises.

Panic is clawing up your throat, green-gray,
the color of four-in-the-morning palpitations and
you lie back down and grab the sheets and wish

that November was something else,
that lying on the grass looking up at the stars meant
something else, that being told you’re pretty
didn’t mean bruises, didn’t mean scratches.

You want to sleep. This is catching, late-night conversations,
he’ll feel it too, and the panic claws up as you realize
the disease is spreading like wildfire,

it burns at your nerves and your muscles and
you’re melting into the bed, growing soft and cold and heavy
under too many blankets  and the ceiling melts into orange
and dark
and brick

until you bite your lip and kick and try not to die,
fight someone who ran six months ago but still has his hand
around your neck, still has his voice in your ear and his breath
on your face.

He got to you first, then to her,
then to them, all of them, they’re gone now
he came like wildfire.

You sweat and smell ashes and try not to die.
They say Death is

an old man with a long black coat and
a curved, cold scythe and arthritis that rumbles
like alcoholic snoring before dawn.

like a ruby-throated nightmare with blood
teeth and eyes carved out against the black,
unvarnished furniture of space.

like a child creeping out of bed in the dark when
the floor is cold and sticky, the warm smell of urine on
fresh-cleaned bed sheets and oh god oh god panic thrust
against adults who wake up with voices like an asthmatic sunset.

~~~

I lie awake next to him at night and listen and

imagine what it would be like to hear
his breath catch just so
and stop.

rehearse a frantic phone call, gun-fire pleadings and
the no, no, no denial that will be gobbled up,
flushed down by an uncaring silence that will not yield as
I throw myself against the walls.

wait.

~~~

I’m what I have always been, but I guess for now

yes.

well enough.

no.

~~~

A tear streaks across my face like a shooting star
and the night sky asks me

what are you thinking about?

what are you afraid of?

are you okay?

~~~

They say we all have to die, even

the little birds who just want to sing, to speckle orange and pink
and yellow that will fade long before (after) the adjacent sun.

the deer who creep so silently
through the woods that you can almost, almost
forget them.

me.

~~~

I’m scared I’ll never find my way

home, back to where I came from, among dust and siblings
and away from time, from erosion of pieces.

to myself, only to be someone else’s wishes,
never understand my own.

here.

~~~

I’m what I have always been, but I guess for now

yes.

well enough.

no.

~~~

The stars streak across the sky like a tear-stained question mark
and I ask it

what are you thinking about?

what are you afraid of?

are you okay?
Conversations before Daybreak
You may have to read this one more than once.
Loading...
Maybe I’m keeping a diary


11 W [(20x10) + (3x5)]

Wednesday is yellow (so is eleven) (but February is blue and purple)
I have learned that the snow tastes different in each place on campus
and people look at me as though I am broken
the snow melts and drips and my hands are cold, snowflakes die
in haphazard tragedy my thoughts leak out my eyes and when
I cry at night my legs get caught in yours as I try to run from your breathing
but some days I’m tired enough to realize that your existence is a lullaby


12 Thursday 2015 February

It’s Advising Day but no one advises me on anything
my backpack weighs too much and I sit in empty classrooms and
play games with a mechanical pencil  (out of lead) (empty) (empty)
I win the game by not going home, and I lose when people look at me
I wish I had words but oh look, I’m not here anymore
the plant in the bathroom curls and turns brown when I hold it


Superstition 15-2

Someone has misinformed you as to the purposes
of the brick-and-stick food place with the graffiti bathrooms
and one-shot dreams
I will not be a butterfly on display and you do not have
pins for eyes but sometimes I guess we all play games
with loaded dice and self-interpretation
let me ask you: who will make the rules
when they erase your name,  when you are not here anymore
oh look


14 + 2 =/ 15

I visited a graveyard today and said hello
to gravestones buried under snow and
made footprints where no one had been
since a time ago, before cold before ice
they say today is Valentines Day, this means
love but I do not love the crowds and
I do not love the red-pink-white and
I do not love the crushing loss of one-self-ness but
I guess I love you and so it will be okay let’s hold hand with our feet
also SAGA has lemonade sweet and sour are troubled siblings



15 = 15, 2

Today I checked on the canister
I put in the basement and someone looked
at me and said ‘what are you doing’
the way you’d add ‘you idiot’ and
I wanted to say ‘collecting radon in
activated charcoal canisters’ but instead I say
‘saving the world’ because maybe I’ll save you too
people write names on the walls but none of them are mine and I think
I can feel myself erase or maybe I’m just falling asleep


Yellow-seven pink one-red

I’ve been trying to sleep but
there are demons hiding in the corners
I hear people say ‘trust’ a lot but I don’t
because everything is broken shards and I am awake
I want to write my name on a wall
to see how long I will last and the plant
on my windowsill dies from too much water
and not enough sun and I’ve been trying to sleep
as I pull pins from my eyes and load them in an empty
pencil


Tuesday February 17th, 2015

I don’t feel colorful today and
as they plug in the electrodes I see
my brainwaves and remember all the times
everyone has called me brainless
I am here beneath the blankets on my bed, the dryness
of my throat may take my words but not my
voice someday you will have to
understand that I am still standing and when I cry at night
my existence is not a lullaby, but if I try
I can be a story I am still standing
even if I’m buried under the snow


or maybe I’m just losing my mind.
Maybe I'm keeping a diary
I wrote this for my college's student newspaper, as an experiment in stream-of-conscious diary keeping.
Loading...
They say I’m careless.
I leave one of my boots unlaced
when I get dressed this morning.

The laces get coated in
snow and
thaw and freeze, stiff-spine
and brittle.

I can feel it catch on
the uneven ground, on
the chunks of ice,

on the way you stare
to tell me that
you hate me.

I want you to see
it, the way I drag through
the snow.

I am here I am
here I am here i
am here iamhere
i am

~~~

I can smell your thoughts
from here, spoilt milk
and apple cores and
rotten water in corpse-ridden
vases. I want to tell you

look at what you’re doing to yourself

but you wouldn’t care
if I made you.

There’s a Dining Commons
gone battlefield and
you think you can use
stares like pins
and I will be an insect
up on the wall.

You’ve rotted, silly. You hated
until worms. All you are
are splinters.

I can feel you break against
the bricks.

What have you done?

~~~

I want to find a palm-reader
and ask if it’s my fault.

I want to know if I am allowed
to laugh as it goes down.

Friendship. Ship. Ship.

The captain must go down
with the ship…who was
driving?

I don’t care about my hands,
I think I’ll laugh.

What have I done?

~~~

There have been worms. I
can smell you rotting.

Why are you so bent
on sinking in an
empty room?

How did you get
locked-in when you’re
the one who ran at the first
alarm?

I thought you took
the lifeboat. I thought you
left me to drown.

How’d I get off alone?

~~~

I’d like to tell you

you don’t have to try this hard

but you wouldn’t hear me
if I tried.

I hope the water isn’t too cold.

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Synesthi's Profile Picture
Synesthi
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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:iconcopper9lives:
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!

:heart:
Copper
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:iconnightshade-keyblade:
nightshade-keyblade Featured By Owner May 23, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
:iconhappybirthdaysignplz:
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:iconsynesthi:
Synesthi Featured By Owner May 23, 2014
Thanks!
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:iconedges-to-everything:
Edges-to-Everything Featured By Owner May 23, 2014
A very Happy Birthday to you! :nod:

- Michael
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:iconsynesthi:
Synesthi Featured By Owner May 23, 2014
Thanks!
Reply
:icon91816119:
91816119 Featured By Owner May 23, 2014   Writer
Happy birthday, sweetie! Have a fantastic day, and a fantastic year. :heart:

:cake:
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:iconsynesthi:
Synesthi Featured By Owner May 23, 2014
Thanks!
Reply
:iconhopeburnsblue:
hopeburnsblue Featured By Owner May 11, 2014  Professional Writer
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:
Reply
:iconsynesthi:
Synesthi Featured By Owner May 11, 2014
I'm glad. And you're so welcome.

:iconheartglompplz:
Reply
:iconedges-to-everything:
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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