synsthesia
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I don't pick my favorite colors. They pick me, then leave me when they want, not when I ask.
I don't pick my favorite colors.
They pick me.
They cling to my skin, they go under my scalp,
they find those little spots under my fingernails that become tender and raw when I bite them
They know next to nothing
about my brand of
what they are guessing
about, possibly,
though most acknowledge
it is strength.
The internet cannot explain to me
