confessions of a synesthete










confessions of a synesthete synesthesia stories
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Autoplay OFF   •   2 months ago
A poem about my experiences with senses and what i suspect(?) to be synesthesia. Thank you for reading! xxx

confessions of a synesthete

i am beginning to wonder, what does it mean to have spoken

i am beginning to wonder, what does it mean to have spoken in languages other than the ones known?

i am beginning to wonder, what does it mean to have spoken in languages other than the ones known? does my speech in blues,

i am beginning to wonder, what does it mean to have spoken in languages other than the ones known? does my speech in blues, narcissus yellows and violent purples miss the same spot?

the ashes i've thrown at each word seems too real,

the ashes i've thrown at each word seems too real, too alive to have been taken otherwise.

wednesday is a cold june

wednesday is a cold june and i am still learning where to add the line breaks.

what if i spoke in beats and notes?

what if i spoke in beats and notes? you, perhaps, would understand because hearts can learn to adapt to beat

what if i spoke in beats and notes? you, perhaps, would understand because hearts can learn to adapt to beat in synchrocity, like chameleons can shed one disguise

what if i spoke in beats and notes? you, perhaps, would understand because hearts can learn to adapt to beat in synchrocity, like chameleons can shed one disguise and leap into the other when the curtain falls.

the curtain grows a mind and strangles

the curtain grows a mind and strangles my voice into submission,

the curtain grows a mind and strangles my voice into submission, until i learn to sew my mouth shut on my father's rage

the curtain grows a mind and strangles my voice into submission, until i learn to sew my mouth shut on my father's rage and aunt's infidelity, and instead,

leave them as swirling colours and bass lines

leave them as swirling colours and bass lines that run and bleed into each other,

leave them as swirling colours and bass lines that run and bleed into each other, without remorse.

leave them as swirling colours and bass lines that run and bleed into each other, without remorse. (i.n)

*** here, it is, here are my confessions of a synesthete.

you see, synesthesia is when some of your senses cross, like sound and sight or taste. and that's how i write my poems. sometimes, i find myself using my taste. certain words taste sharper or rounder or bitter, sweet- you name it. and i experiment with this until it works out.

i also associate colours with different emotions and people, occasionally, and can usually 'taste' the vibes of people around me, so i can see if i like them or not. sound is also a big thing. some music has colours and tastes, so when i go a couple of days without it, i get agitated and moody fast.

i am also very sensitive to sounds and sounds i hate can make my brain spin and i have to snap myself out of it. which has always happened since i was young, and it makes sense, because my dad has also described the same sensation and it usually is genetic.

there you go, there's my brain stripped back. i've never had it checked out properly but i've always suspected. maybe i'll see in the future. sorry for the long explanation, but i thought i should explain this poem. xx

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