There exist two worlds in which I can choose to function:

theirs and mine.

 

Theirs leads to a constant churning inside my head

through which I am force-fed cyphers

to determine what is real and what is mine.

 

Theirs leads me to a constant juxtaposition of others’ work

which sends shivers through my body,

having to look at the break in the flow of everything

and their unbalanced chaos.

 

Theirs leads to my constant desire for everything to be lit in color,

as only I see it – to let others into my world.

 

Mine is rhythmic to me, but not you.

Mine is harmonic to me, but not you.

Mine is balanced to me, but not you.

Mine is, well, mine. But to you, confusion.

 

Let me share a glimpse of my world with a poem:

 

 

Such is the life in a synesthetic head - 

a world of perfect satisfaction.