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Michael  Aug 2014
Michael Aug 2014
The house I have built within myself for you
is not an empty nest
It's cupped palms that hold water just fine
a cool, stone cage for a hummingbird
the door is open
I am waiting for the right moment to fly
storm siren Sep 2016
Soft yellow light,
Pink lower case,
Soft blue arches,
Green curves,
Red snakes.

Orange like a sunset,
Grey wolves howling,
Warm orange yellow like honey,
Green curves,
Orange like a sunset,
Brown like sand.

Red snakes,
Purple curve,
Orange like a sunset,
Warm orange yellow like honey,
Green curves,
Blue corners,
Blue corners,
Pink lower case.


In short, the love of my life.
I spelled my Bluebird's full name using each color each letter of his name is.

:D I am a sap.
red and green: the color of my nightmares
though red and green are seldom in the picture
instead most nightmares lack a trace of color
but anxiety is spelled in red and green
Cassidy Claire Johnson © 2016.
Leah Ward Mar 2013
I would give anything to be a synesthete. 
I would give up anything to be a synesthete, 
To taste maple syrup when you whisper in my ear; 
Just the slight sensation of your words in my ear
And I would hear the ocean, feel its mist and I would
Hear the lull of my mother's lullaby. Her words would 
Bring me back to the sweet feel of strawberries that I taste
When your eyes sweetly feel for my taste.
JM Romig  Apr 2014
Rain, Man
JM Romig Apr 2014
He pairs kinds of rain with kinds of jazz
like some folks do with wine and cheese.

He says a thunderstorm goes best with bebop
Especially if you can time the record just right
for the drums to explode just as the sky does

He says free jazz is for those unpredictable days,
where the rain keeps coming,
but will ebb and flow at it's own pace

He says a light Sunday drizzle is the perfect time
to pull out Miles Davis' Birth of the Cool,
and sip slowly on the moment

I think he may be a synesthete.
NaPoWriMo 21/30
Deana Luna May 2016
a synesthete
i swallow our memories in color
pink when you touched my tattoo for the first time
your fingers sticking to each line as if the ridges were stairs you were careful walking down
as if i was something you were ever trepidatious about.
grey for seeing you again in the car
with rap blasting louder than my thoughts
i was thankful for that
green for lying on your velvet couch
clutching myself so i didn’t fall apart
all over your apartment
careful not to leave an arm in
your bedroom
my stomach on your kitchen chair
.a rainbow.
prickly beads of sweat around my eyes
that is not what you noticed
instead oceans of what you needed
from me.
grey grey . grey . a sunny sort of rain.
a gloomy apetite.
i keep finding poems written so long ago / might as well post them .
Olivia Havanaugh Sep 2011
In my dreams
     you are the moon;
  you occupy the right side
  of my thoughts.
A synesthete's slumber:
  I see your face
     shining over unsure tides
         and feel glad
         in shades of lavender.
Mike Rollain  Apr 2016
Mike Rollain Apr 2016
Rejects flood the cabin and spaces between my lungs
These cotton candy cookouts have taken to the skies and
Tattered treads simmer in the summer streets ahead

Arbitrary animals fall in endless waves
One after another
Clouding distinctions between land and water

Rubber loses grip
Foundations slip

I hold on tight
And wait for change

I am a synesthete imposter
But tonight I can taste the city lights and
Their salty crunch is as real to me as the chlorine sting
Of the moment I first realized
I've always known how to swim
storm siren  Oct 2016
I Miss You
storm siren Oct 2016
I miss you the way the sun misses the sky,
The way the moon misses the tides.

I miss you the way roots miss the ground,
The way those lost miss being found.

I miss you the way a wolf misses it's pack,
The way a performer misses the act.

I miss you the way birds miss flight,
The way a blind synesthete misses sight.

I miss you the way lungs miss air,
The way one's heart misses care.

I miss you the way bees miss plants,
I'd tell you all the ways I miss you,
But I can't.

I long for your hands
In mine to hold,
And I long for your heart beside mine,
As we grow old.

And while fourteen days,
Is all that stands between us--
I know that this love, this life,
Will be more than I've ever dreamed of.
Fourteen days. I'm buzzing with excitement!
storm siren Jul 2016
Make believe
I'm a mess
If you so choose
If doing so makes you feel better.

Don't get me started.
There's nothing
That keeps me grounded,
Quite like him.

Down to Earth,
Honey no,
I've got my head in the clouds,
And my feet are running on stars.
(Rewrapping old scars)

And reality doesn't come crashing down,
When I go tumbling back to our atmosphere,
Because my reality
Is in the clear.

'Cause it's not like
I regret my choices
That lead me to here.
Whether it's left me with scars or fear,
I would say
I turned out okay.

Listen up,
If you would find it pleasing to hear,
Or even if not.
I'm a pistol
With the safety on.

My smile melts
The ligaments in your knees,
And my knuckles are scarred
From fights with things that also bleed,
So you're no different,
In all honesty.

But he kisses me
And it leaves me breathless,
And suddenly the violence,
And swift movement
Of the fight
And grace on my feet
Comes crashing down,
I'm burning in the atmosphere.

I'm left as a
Fragile thing,
A bird with buzzing wings.

Dust off scorched skin
And soot covered feathers,
I'm stained in ash
And the pale raised skin
Of scars I probably somehow deserved.

Who I used to be,
And who I am now
Are no longer the same.

I used to fight to survive,
In more ways than one
And today I have to bite my lip to keep
From smiling
At seemingly nothing.

And I kept trying
To keep flying back to the stars,
And I kept getting burned,
But I don't need heavenly bodies,
I needed another bird to fly with.

Scramble the iridescent reds and purples,
With the greens and yellows,
Fluttering and flying,
I'll fly with him,
My Bluebird.

At peace with a life,
I never intended to live.
I never intended anything
Until now.

I fully intend
On sticking around
And staying with him
For as long
As he'll have me.

And I'll fight like the hell I've seen
To stay longer.
Giving up is for cowardly children,
They throw away what's broken
In order to get a new one.
Breaking it further so no one judges them
For throwing it away.

I am no child,
And I am now coward.

I want a life with my Bluebird.
And **** it all to hell
If I let petty displays of power
Rip that from my hands.

So let me inform you, kindly,
Of my intentions.

As a demisexual synesthete who writes too much and pays attention too little, I fully intend on staying here, hand in hand, wing by wing, with the bird that taught me (most likely subconsciously) that falling in love is the wrong way to do it. Fly, don't fall. All it takes is enough determination and desire to keep going in efforts for a life with another.
Hey things

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