it doesn’t have a name
but it’s something with my brain
i can hear neon green
i can smell pale pink
or maybe it’s my soul, no science to it at all
logic just says that my senses like to mix
but they’re still unable to tell me why that when i cry, i feel the word ‘crisp’ in the corners of my eyes
and when i hurt, all i can say is i’m wearing the soul of a heavy t-shirt that’s been left in the rain, and doesn’t fit right
that’s how i describe a numb sort of pain
so they send me to doctors
they give me therapists and pills
i was given a mood stabilizer, it made my mind still
but not in the way that gives most peace, sprinkling pink in the shade of how you say ‘daisy’
they were stripping me of pigment
they weren’t stopping my pain, they were shutting off my soul
because when push comes to shove, they’re as dull as burnt up coal
and i say burnt up because just like my cup, i know that their souls had a start
they just chose to dedicate theirs to logic on charts
and for them that’s okay, i just don’t prefer eyes like paper plates grey
i love that i wake and can tell if the day is going to feel like lilac in my legs
and i feel sorry for those that have no way to know that mauve tickles their fingers and toes when their favorite song dances through their lungs in the sound of cumulus clouds
it’s not a disease, a disorder, or an artistic phase
ask logic and it’s website definition will say-
it’s when one sense stimulates another
but today is not the day i let professionals unwrite the only way that life feels bright
i will let my colors swirl and i will let my senses mingle
because till the day i die i will not give a single-
explanation of myself to them without knowing first-
that what i felt in my soul was to logic unversed