When I told her
why I hate the number 7,
I must have seemed crazy.
"Numbers don't have personalities."
She said.
"You're right."
But they do.
When I said,
"Your voice is teal, with hints of pink."
He laughed at me.
"Voices don't have color."
But they do.
When I said,
"Triangles are happy shapes."
They stared.
"You're crazy,"
They said.
They're probably right.
Everyone I told said
"That isn't possible."
"You're so creative."
Or they just laughed.
When I told him,
"Your voice is deep maroon."
He said,
"No, its brown."
I gasped.
When I found a name for it,
I started crying.
The blue drips slid down my vision.
The rust swirls of my text tone
Interrupt my thoughts.
"Finally.
Someone else."
I know what he means.
"What is 7 like?"
"7 is a total douche."
"Right?!"
We talk about our colors
And numbers
And shapes.
We talk for hours.
It's nice having someone else.
______________________________________
As I write this, the blobs of color fly over my vision from my music. I have finally opened up enough to be comfortable talking about this side of me. For so long, I believed them. I thought they were right when they said I'm crazy. Maybe I am crazy, but their world will never be as colorful as mine.
~Danny
YOU ARE READING
What Color is Your Voice?
PoetryA story based on my experience with synesthesia. The second story in my series about mental illness. They do not have to be read in order.
