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About Deviant Synesthi20/Female/United States Group :iconspreading-awareness: Spreading-Awareness
Because the world needs to know.
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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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  1. How long have you been on DeviantArt?

    I've been on DeviantART since August 2012, so almost three years. I made the account as a way to deal with a visit from family members that I wanted to be distracted from.

  2. What does your username mean?

    It's a casual name for someone with synesthesia, but 'synesthete' is a more common term.

  3. Describe yourself in three words.

    Flammable, sleepless, chaos

  4. Are you left or right handed?

    Ambidextrous, really, but I tend to use my right hand more to avoid the "OMG ARE YOU LEFT HANDED" spiel. 

  5. What was your first deviation?

    It was a old piece of poetry from when I was about eleven. My first current work, as in written and posted at the same time, was probably 'The Green of My Heartbeats' which is one of my most popular works. It also helped me get into college. 

  6. What is your favourite type of art to create?

    Poetry, though I have a soft spot for short stories. 

  7. If you could instantly master a different art style, what would it be?

    I wish I knew how to draw, but sadly my hands are not willing.

  8. What was your first favorite?

    I think it was Obsession, by UntamedUnwanted.

  9. What type of art do you tend to favourite the most?

    Literature, with prose and poetry pretty equal. I don't tend to find my way to the other areas, though I'm working on it. 

  10. Who is your all-time favourite deviant artist?

    Huh…that's really hard. I think it must be Nichrysalis because he was my first friend here.

  11. If you could meet anyone on DeviantArt in person, who would it be?

    Either Nic, or hopeburnsblue because we're friends and I feel like we'd have a lot to talk about. 

  12. How has a fellow deviant impacted your life?

    Nic and I wrote an article together, which helped me really see myself as a writer.

  13. What are your preferred tools to create art?

    Paper and pen, because my synesthesia is the truest there. However, I use my laptop a lot, and I love it.

  14. What is the most inspirational place for you to create art?

    Outside. I'm really partial to trees, of any kind. At my college, we have a tree that I sometimes climb, and I've written up there before, so maybe that.

  15. What is your favourite DeviantArt memory?

    This is a bit sad, but I was really depressed around a year back, and I finally got up the courage to write about it. The link it below. When I got through my depression enough to come back online and look, the supportive comments of people were what helped me keep writing, and ultimately keep on fighting. 


    Thank you to everyone here who has helped shape me as a writer.


    ~Synesthi


     

    Cherry-Eucalyptus MiseryI make cheap tea
    in a cheap plastic cup,
    boil it down into ashes.
    Tastes like ashes, tastes like destiny.
    I didn't ask for this.
    Knees bent into chest
    wounded and scream-gasping
    because I didn't ask for this.
    I lie in bed at night
    and play with the edges of the blankets.
    I listen for breathing. I hear my own.
    I am ashamed.
    There's nothing on the floor but dirt,
    tracked in on my shoes
    but I'm barefoot now
    and what are we going to do about that.
    There's mud on my feet
    and the grass is green-tea sunshine
    but I lost my tongue.
    Sewed sewage under my skin
    and drank poison to wash away the taste
    of my tears.
    They gave me cough drops for my bronchitis,
    and all that's left in me
    is cherry-eucalyptus misery.
    There's nothing on the floor but me,
    cherry-eucalyptus and bent knees,
    elbows dug into sewage-sewn ribs.
    The kettle clicks off,
    and my destiny pools in a two-dollar cup
    and I cry ashes instead of tears.

Activity


I have not been good at smelling disaster. 
For a long time coming I have closed my eyes and believed
that this is the day we are getting out alive.
It is not.

I remember the last day we got out alive;
I was young then but it was not long ago
I remember that the air tasted like blood

that was before I learned to like that taste.
I remember that the sun was photographed
against my eyes, I remember
that I wasn't as good at being
as I was at breathing.

In a storybook bound with chainlink
we are breathing. 
Existence is a tired melody and 
the air leaks out between the seals
of yesterday and tomorrow.

And as the whole world sinks like a
deflating helium balloon
on an air mattress to the moon
I can only wonder where we're going

I have grown too good at smelling disaster
the air tastes like blood
and I regret that the day we made it out alive
was so long ago, and that we didn't get far
before throwing ourselves in the river

I regret that I got tired when I was still young
but existence is a tired melody 
and we don't have to play anymore
if we don't want to.

And as we lie on the air mattress 
hurtling through space and wonder
who we are,
I'll still be dreaming of us getting out alive
under the round ball of yellow
that was the sun
not so long ago.

Back when we were breathing.
And I'll close my eyes, and hope
that we'll get out alive before I'm too old.
Existence is a Tired Melody
I don't know what I was saying. But I said it.
Loading...
A narcoleptic and an insomniac walk into a bar.

That sounds like it should be a joke, but it isn’t.

The two girls meet at the bar. The first has rings under her eyes like a raccoon. The other has a bruise near her knuckles. Raccoon-girl points. “What happened to your hand?”

“I fell.” She smiles. “What happened to your eyes?”

They get to talking.  The girl with the raccoon eyes hasn’t slept in two days. She’s not supposed to be drinking, not with the cocktail of drugs in her, but she’s run straight out of patience. The bruise is from when the other girl fell down during one of the narcoleptic attacks. She’s not supposed to drink, or really go out of the house unsupervised.

“Screw that,” the insomniac laughs, having another drink. By the end of the night, she’s too drunk to walk and the narcoleptic has to haul her back to the apartment, putting her on the couch.

“This your place?” the insomniac slurs. “Nice. Lotta pillows.”

“I fall down a lot. You know…when I fall asleep.”

There’s a drunken giggle. “You’re sleepy and I’m sleepless.”


~~~

They become friends quickly. Sleepless is gregarious when drunk and sullen when sober, so they spend a lot of time at the bars at first. Sleepy is forbidden to drink, but comes for the conversation.

“Don’t you want a sip?” Sleepless asks, already halfway intoxicated.

“Nah,” Sleepy responds. “Someone’s gotta call the cab.”

“You’re so good.” Sleepless sounds bitter. An hour later, she starts vomiting and they have to go home. The bartender is looking at them, disappointed and a little angry. Sleepless cries in the cab.

“I’m so bad,” she sighs into her hands.

~~~

Sleepless moves in six months after they met. She’s forbidden from drinking, so they don’t go to the bar anymore. Neither can drive today, and cabs are expensive, so they both sit on the couch and think about life.

“What happened to your old place?”

“Got kicked out. Disability didn’t come in fast enough.” She catches Sleepy’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I can pay rent. Just…stuff happens.”

Sleepy laughs and laughs, and the laughing causes another attack. When she wakes up fifteen minutes later, Sleepless is eyeing her enviously.

~~~

Sleepless brought her car from the old place. She can only drive if she’s slept in the last two days, which is nearly never. It sits in the apartment parking lot and gathers rust.

They keep their respective medicines on the kitchen table. There’s thirteen packs of Benadryl in the bathroom. Sleepless eats them like candy. It’s a wonder she survived drinking at all.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Sleepy tells her regularly.

Sleepless smiles. She has a wicked, Cheshire-cat grin that makes Sleepy’s hair stand up. “Maybe so. Or I’ll wake up, and it’ll all be a bad dream.”

~~~

On the one-year anniversary of their friendship, Sleepy has three attacks and nearly falls down the stairs during one of them. She cries when she wakes up, sitting on the steps. Sleepless sits down next to her and listens.

“I hate you! You can stay awake!” she screams.

Sleepless half-carries her back up the stairs. It’s a role-reversal as she puts Sleepy down on the couch and brings her a cup of water.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

Sleepy stops crying slowly.

“How do you know I don’t hate you?”

“Because,” Sleepless responds casually as she takes four Benadryl.

“Because?”

“Because I’m your only friend.”

~~~

“When did you stop sleeping?”

“Hell if I know,” she responds, staring at the ceiling. She’s lying on the floor. She hasn’t slept in four days and she’s turning to rubber. “Maybe when I was born. Hard to remember.”

“Think you’ll sleep tonight?”

“Doubt it, Sleepy.”

Sleepy sits down next to her. “You know I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“Suit yourself, Sleeping Beauty.”

Sleeping Beauty lets it go because it’s no use fighting with her.

~~~

Sleeping Beauty hasn’t had an attack for three weeks. She makes a cake to celebrate. Sleepless changes her name to Sleeping in honor of the occasion, and Sleeping lets it happen.

“Hey, Sleeping, when’s the cake gonna be ready?”

“A little while.”

Sleepless sits on the counter. “What’s it like to be all nice and cured?”

“Well, at the moment it’s pretty scary. Who knows if I’m gonna last?”

Sleepless nods and begins to eat the icing out of the bowl.

“Hey, I need that!” She snatches the bowl away. Sleepless grins her Cheshire-cat grin and climbs off the counter.

“What are we gonna do with all this table space?” She gestures to Sleeping’s area of the table.

“Buy a fruit bowl?”

Sleepless puts her hands on her hips, surveying the room. “I think a blue bowl will be nice.”

~~~

Sleeping has an attack three days later and wakes up in the bathroom.

“Hey, Sleepy,” Sleeping says. She’s perched on the counter, watching her sleep.

“Hey.”

“No blue bowl then?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Sleepy gets up, groaning quietly. “Damn it, I thought I was cured. Sorry…”

Sleepless looks away evasively and tries not to let it show that she’s relieved.

~~~

“I’m gonna go see my parents this weekend,” Sleepless says. She looks at Sleepy carefully over the piles of medicine in the middle of the table. “I haven’t seen them in a while.”

“How are you going to get there?’

“If I manage to sleep, I’ll drive.” She plays with the bottle of Benadryl. They’ve been buying it in bulk.

“Don’t take any while you’re on the road.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“No, I mean…”

“I get it.” Sleepless puts the bottle down. “I just…I need to get away for a while, you know?”

“Okay. But what about me? What if I fall?”

“You’ll be okay,” Sleepless says, guilt smeared all over her face. “You haven’t gotten hurt in a while.”

“You know that can change every day.”

“I’m not your babysitter!”

“No. But I was, back when you were drunk all the time. I need your help!”

“I need to see my father.”

“Why is it so damn important to you?” Sleepy gets up, yelling.

“He’s dying!” Sleepless screams back.

They look at each other, faces white and red in blotches. Sleepy goes to the couch and lies under her blanket, crying quietly.

~~~

She’s gone Friday morning. Sleepy looks out into the parking lot. The car is gone, which means she slept.

It’s a good thing, Sleepy tells herself, trying not to cry.

She cries anyway. The emotion causes an attack. She hits her head.

~~~

Sleepless comes home the next day and finds her still on the floor. “Oh hell.”

“I fell down,” Sleepy responds apologetically.

“I can see that,” Sleepless responds. “You’re bleeding.”

“Was. Stopped.”

“Mm,” Sleepless responds as she tries to pick her up. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“Can you drive?”

“Can you wait?”

~~~

Sleepy is in the hospital for three days. Sleepless stays nearby for most of it.

“If I’m going to not-sleep, might as well do it here, right?”

“Yeah.”

Sleepy gets discharged and they go back home.

It doesn’t hit either of them for a little while. Sleepy gets over it first, and then it’s Sleepless’ turn.

Sleepless sits on the couch and cries. She doesn’t know why she is crying, but she cries for nearly an hour before getting up and going to her part of the table. The Benadryl is missing.

“Hey, Sleepy? Where’d you stick my pills?”

Sleepy comes out of her room, ashamed. “I hid them. I want us to stay out of the hospital…and you use them too much.”

Sleepless sighs and goes back to the couch.

“It’s because I care about you.”

“Well thank you for caring so damn much,” Sleepless responds bitterly.

~~~

Sleepy caves four days later when Sleepless still hasn’t slept.  She brings her the medication and some water, watching with alarm as Sleepless takes six.

“I thought you’d use your prescriptions.”

“Nah. I’m not me when I’m all doped up. Makes me crazy. Doesn’t work nearly well enough anyway.” Sleepless beds down on the couch. She’s slurring again.

“Where’d you go on your walk today?”

“Nowhere much.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go out when you’re like this.”

“I know.” Sleepless hiccups.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.” Sleepless closes her eyes. “Best medication.”

~~~

Sleepless goes back to drinking. Sleepy didn’t realize she had stopped biting her nails until she started again. To her credit, Sleepless doesn’t drive and she doesn’t go out at night.

Sleepy starts going with. She’s depressed and lonely and needs an out.

Sleepless starts drinking more. Sleepy gets sadder and starts drinking with her.

~~~

“My dad died,” Sleepless tells her one day when they’re both sufficiently drunk.

“Yeah? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I hate him.” She giggles and flashes her crazy smile. “That’s why I went to see him. To tell him.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that to the dying,” Sleepy responds reproachfully.

“We’re all gonna die, Sleepy.” Sleepless orders another drink.

~~~

She’s right, to her credit. Sleepless dies on a Wednesday night. The autopsy reports indicate that it was a mix between the Benadryl, the prescription medication, the alcohol and the strain of never sleeping.

No one is surprised.

No one can explain, however, that Sleepy never has an attack again.
Here's a request for you:

Don't read this while I'm around


And here's another:
Remember that I'm trying not to make these mistakes

And here's a secret:
I've fallen in love with a bad thing.


So here's the thing:
it'll start warm.
They tell you it'll hurt but they're
wrong, it won't hurt.
You're not going to notice it,
not until it's spread a little

it'll grow.
And here's what they don't tell you:
you'll be a little in love with it,
first sarcastically and then desperately
and then nauseatingly in love with it.

Trinket-love to second-best-sweater-love to
favorite-pants-love to blanket-love to
first-day-of-highschool love to prom-night-love
to take-me-out-to-dinner-love to
heart-and-soul love
to you're-part-of-me love
to no-i'll-stay-with-you love
to you're-more-than-them-anyway-love
to i'll-never-tell-love

Here's the thing:
you'll go from holding a match to being the match.
You'll burn.
You'll burn and you'll like it
but not too much though,
that would be unseemly.

Here's the thing:
And as you're sitting there, half-delirious with the smell
of burning hair and fear
you'll poke at it like a never-healing bruise
or maybe it'll poke at you,
one big bruise
and it'll be familiar.

And here's what they don't tell you:
you won't notice it get cold
and slow,
because you'll be scared a bit they can smell it
on you, they can taste it in the air.

That's when you make lists and plans
and wait,

tick, tick, tick, tick


planning your first date

tick, tick, tick, tick


planning your wedding day

tick, tick, tick, tick


planning to stay away

tick-tock, tick-tock


until midnight, until it all goes
dark.


So here's the thing:
once you've off and eloped and sealed away
they'll wonder why they didn't see
that you were falling into this

And here's a secret:
I hope I don't fall too.

And here's another:
Neither of us has to die this way

And here's a request for me:

Don't.
The monster
Because to hell with that.

But I'd love to say I'm great and okay and everything because I am right not but I haven't been quite okay for a while. And maybe now I'm doing better and I'll stay back but I can't make promises. But if you have some extra good vibes, I'd appreciate a few.
Loading...
When I was six years old, I knew
what money was, mostly because
I owned two piggy banks
[though I suppose only one was a pig.]

When I was twelve I started storing
that pink-pig piggy-bank on my desk
and when I was sixteen it fell off and shattered
and I cried.

My mom and I glued it back together
and I named it Adam after Frankenstein's monster
and kept it on a shelf with my trophies [because if anything
had to be that broken, I guess
it has to be beautiful].

~~~~

As a child I had a soft spot for
broken things,
tired things.
Doll furniture with missing legs and old,
well-loved sweaters. At eight
I gnawed through the strings that kept the cuffs
of my favorite sweater rolled up and thus
never outgrew it.
I wore it to every senior exam.

As a child I had a soft spot for
hurting things.
I befriended crying people for a few short hours,
and when they were happy they left me.
A revolving door of ever-flowing sympathy
laced with fear, laced with need,
I wanted to be needed, and I needed
to help.

As a child I was strong,
but I burnt out.

~~~

As a young adult who was still a child,
somehow, despite all of this,
I exploded and exposed miles of hurt
under emotional callouses
And I needed to be wanted,
and I wanted help.

But instead of crawling on my knees through
an ever-revolving door, I found alleyways of pity
laced with dangerous loathing and smelled hate
on once-familiar fabric.
And I became a well-used, once-loved
broken thing.

~~~

As a young adult wearing a childhood sweater that,
despite everything, still sort of fits,
I lost my mind the way some people lose pencils.

Suddenly,
and without noticing.

It took me some time to start looking for it in
pill bottles, and tissue boxes,
and the cracks in walls.
I never found it.

~~~

Or maybe I did, in strange places, under
my pillows, and in my hair, between
the walls and the ceiling of a perhaps-real
Library,
at the bottom of mugs and on top
of closets.

And I glued it together, I suppose,
like Adam the pink-pig piggy-bank
who still sits with my most prized trophies
because somehow, as broken as I am,
I still love broken things,
tired things.

~~~

I just wish I could love myself.
Revolving Doors
I'm trying to come back but I'm depressed and I could use some love.
Loading...
  1. How long have you been on DeviantArt?

    I've been on DeviantART since August 2012, so almost three years. I made the account as a way to deal with a visit from family members that I wanted to be distracted from.

  2. What does your username mean?

    It's a casual name for someone with synesthesia, but 'synesthete' is a more common term.

  3. Describe yourself in three words.

    Flammable, sleepless, chaos

  4. Are you left or right handed?

    Ambidextrous, really, but I tend to use my right hand more to avoid the "OMG ARE YOU LEFT HANDED" spiel. 

  5. What was your first deviation?

    It was a old piece of poetry from when I was about eleven. My first current work, as in written and posted at the same time, was probably 'The Green of My Heartbeats' which is one of my most popular works. It also helped me get into college. 

  6. What is your favourite type of art to create?

    Poetry, though I have a soft spot for short stories. 

  7. If you could instantly master a different art style, what would it be?

    I wish I knew how to draw, but sadly my hands are not willing.

  8. What was your first favorite?

    I think it was Obsession, by UntamedUnwanted.

  9. What type of art do you tend to favourite the most?

    Literature, with prose and poetry pretty equal. I don't tend to find my way to the other areas, though I'm working on it. 

  10. Who is your all-time favourite deviant artist?

    Huh…that's really hard. I think it must be Nichrysalis because he was my first friend here.

  11. If you could meet anyone on DeviantArt in person, who would it be?

    Either Nic, or hopeburnsblue because we're friends and I feel like we'd have a lot to talk about. 

  12. How has a fellow deviant impacted your life?

    Nic and I wrote an article together, which helped me really see myself as a writer.

  13. What are your preferred tools to create art?

    Paper and pen, because my synesthesia is the truest there. However, I use my laptop a lot, and I love it.

  14. What is the most inspirational place for you to create art?

    Outside. I'm really partial to trees, of any kind. At my college, we have a tree that I sometimes climb, and I've written up there before, so maybe that.

  15. What is your favourite DeviantArt memory?

    This is a bit sad, but I was really depressed around a year back, and I finally got up the courage to write about it. The link it below. When I got through my depression enough to come back online and look, the supportive comments of people were what helped me keep writing, and ultimately keep on fighting. 


    Thank you to everyone here who has helped shape me as a writer.


    ~Synesthi


     

    Cherry-Eucalyptus MiseryI make cheap tea
    in a cheap plastic cup,
    boil it down into ashes.
    Tastes like ashes, tastes like destiny.
    I didn't ask for this.
    Knees bent into chest
    wounded and scream-gasping
    because I didn't ask for this.
    I lie in bed at night
    and play with the edges of the blankets.
    I listen for breathing. I hear my own.
    I am ashamed.
    There's nothing on the floor but dirt,
    tracked in on my shoes
    but I'm barefoot now
    and what are we going to do about that.
    There's mud on my feet
    and the grass is green-tea sunshine
    but I lost my tongue.
    Sewed sewage under my skin
    and drank poison to wash away the taste
    of my tears.
    They gave me cough drops for my bronchitis,
    and all that's left in me
    is cherry-eucalyptus misery.
    There's nothing on the floor but me,
    cherry-eucalyptus and bent knees,
    elbows dug into sewage-sewn ribs.
    The kettle clicks off,
    and my destiny pools in a two-dollar cup
    and I cry ashes instead of tears.

deviantID

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

- Michael
Reply
: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:
Reply
: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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