Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Deviant Synesthi20/Female/United States Group :iconspreading-awareness: Spreading-Awareness
Because the world needs to know.
Recent Activity
Deviant for 3 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 239 Deviations 1,008 Comments 10,186 Pageviews

Newest Deviations

Favourites

Critiques

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:...

Groups

  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


  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.

May 2015

Hello, Mr. Audiology Booth. How are you doing? I think wryly to myself as I settle myself into the same dark cubicle. Yes, it has been a while.

The new lady turns her back on me three seconds after I tell her I read lips, so I don’t hear her warning before she jams the little bud in my ear and plays several pitches.

“Thresholds look good,” she says, moving the bud into my other ear.

“They always do,” I respond. My eardrum vibrates just like everyone else’s.

She moves on into the other half of the cubicle. I swing my legs and wait.

I can tell immediately that the test is not the same, and I grimace. Consistency is key. A voice-recorded tape plays in my ear, and I try to play the ‘repeat after me’ game that we’ve been playing all this time.

I can’t understand the soft male voice being played in my ear, but I can infer what I’m hearing. I’m not so good at vowels, but b---b-ll is baseball, and so I give the correct answer after some mixed-up choking sounds as I puzzle my way through.

Then there’s the button-pushing session. She gives me the clicker and tells me to hit the button when I hear the beeps. The test starts, and I hear nothing. A nagging sensation occurs near the base of my skull, but there’s no sound.

She stops the test and tells me I need to press the button, even when I’m not sure. I squint at her, but comply, pressing the button whenever I get the nagging sensation. I hear nothing.

She comes in afterwards. “Good news, your hearing is normal!”

I stare at her, awestruck, and try to argue, but she won’t listen. Soon, I’m crying. She brings back my mom who stares at her with equal puzzlement.

She hands me a print out of the audiology report. I’m not versed in deciphering them, but I can clearly read the indication of at least a mild hearing loss.

There are three stories here: mine, the paper’s, and hers. I stare at her.

“You heard the words, you got almost all of them right,” she says. I get it all of a sudden. She assumed that I understood because I could infer. I try to correct her, but it’s too late. She’s locked on. “I’d like to refer you to a psychologist,” she says sweetly.

Mom turns to look at me, and I shook my head. “I just want to go home.” I turn to look at her. “You can’t help me. I’m going home.”
Pretend not to cry
(this only happened because you were too weak,
too frail to keep your poison away from everyone's glass)

Take off running,
(because if you keep moving,
you won't be too heavy, too much work).

Dry-heave into the neighbor's gutter
(not even you can tell the difference between sick and sad,
the man at the window thinks you're drunk, let him, let him).

Scream
(You failed him, you failed all of them.
Be sorry. Be sorry.

You're so sorry)

Fall down
(the world is spinning, and you can't see anyway
might as well get used to the bottom of the pit).

Get up
(come on, weakling, come on come on
come one come on.
See, this is why no one loves you.)

Sit at the table
(under watchful eyes you won't break down,
away from the seething machine, away from the panic
and the medication).

Pretend not to cry
(but cry anyway).
Health Services is quiet today, or maybe that’s just my hearing. Either way, the waiting room feels cold and empty, almost like an office in of itself.

Offices are bad places, I think spitefully. Offices are bad.

They choose that moment to call me back, and I have to quickly arrange my facial features into a mask of polite happiness. Nice doctor, I think to myself the way a child approaches a slightly scary dog. Good doctor. Nice, friendly doctor.

I feel strange, lonely and a little ill as I settle myself onto the table and fix my eyes upon the face in front of me. I hope this is quick, I don’t feel well and I’d like to go home

“So, Meghan,” she says as she turns to the computer. The rest of her sentence is incomprehensible as I lose my visual lock on her face.

“Excuse me, I need to read your lips.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “I can’t hear terribly well.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised as she clicks through some tabs on my medical chart. “We don’t have any record of that.”

“Yes, I haven’t had those forms forwarded as I don’t see that audiologist anymore.” I shift, uncomfortable, and wince as the pain continues.

“Hampshire requires documentation of these sorts of things if you are looking for any assistance.”

“That’s not-“

“Do you want me to give you a release so those forms can be forwarded?”

“No, I-“

She doesn’t listen. “It would be really good to have those, I can’t really treat you-”

“Please, I just want medication for my UTI.” She looks at me, as though she forgot. “Please, I really don’t feel well.”

She looks at the way I’m curled in on myself and lets go of the conversation. The appointment goes back to normal and I get the care I need, but all the protests in the word can’t stop her from trying to push a release form on me as I leave to stumble home.
The Masquerade [Entry Seven, November 2013]
Sorry about the delay, I've been out of town.
Loading...
They’re talking about me again. They’re always talking about me, it seems. Ever since I became the resident tragedy, the neighborhood pitiful, broken doll, it seems that they’re always talking about me.

I suppose that’s part of their job. High school administrators probably are usually talking about us, and probably often have to talk about people who start being broken.

Broken.

They never talk to me about me, they talk to other people. They talk to Mr. Ruff, because apparently he can tell them more about what it means to be me than I can. They talk to my mother, who doesn’t understand because neither do I. They talk to the doctors that don’t even believe me. They talk to each other, five feet away from me and yet sure they’re not being heard.

It’s funny, almost, these smart adults, in charge of a thousand students, on top of everything, and they can’t remember one tiny thing:

I can read lips.

They’re doing it again. It’s always one or the other. Pity: poor thing, poor girl, poor her, oh no, be nice to Meghan. Or the misplaced inspiration: you’re so brave! I admire you, I can’t imagine, how do you do it?

Because I have to.

I can see their lips, moving, speaking, and I know what it is, but it still hits me the way my head hit those risers: quick, unexpected, and somehow nauseating.

“It’s a shame about Meghan, you know. She used to be so smart.”
The Masquerade [Entry Six, February 2012]
This is probably one of the roughest entries for me to write.
Loading...

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.
Interests

AdCast - Ads from the Community

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
: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
Reply
Add a Comment: