A Poem Titled ‘Synaesthesia’


“That smells like Beethoven!” I excitedly exclaimed to my class at school,

To which they sniggered and poked fun and continued to be cruel.

I, of course, knew what I was talking about completely,

And gritted my teeth, whilst forcing myself to smile at them sweetly.

The object of controversy lay ever so still on my wooden desk,

Gleaming with yumminess, very soon to become a crumbly mess.

The Christmas Pudding still emanated a classical tune,

With which Handel and Bach would have both been over the moon.

Misunderstood by most people who experience my quirky senses and thoughts,

Little do they know the miscommunication in my brain renders me rather fraught.

Oh how my life would be much easier,

If I didn’t have this little thing Psychologists call “Synaesthesia.”


Just the other day I had a friend round to my house for tea,

To which I asked “Does your chip butty taste like circles, or is that just me?”

Whilst a look of pure confusion passed across his animated face,

I quickly took back my tangled remarks, with a great amount of haste.

He told me that his sandwich tasted only of  bread and chips,

Followed by a request to teach him how to taste shapes and even give him some tips.

I explained that my brain is just wired in such a way,

Causing my senses to cross over, with me unable to have any say.

The astonishment in my friend’s face made me feel like a superhero,

Not the loser from school, who was a complete zero.

Now my life is becoming much easier,

Because I have this little thing Psychologists call “Synaesthesia.”


I am quite the celebrity within my school, it would seem,

Especially when I say that Mrs Monroe’s lessons sound like the colour green.

Instead of laughing at my condition children stand rooted to the spot amazed,

Whilst asking me questions repeatedly, I have become quite the craze!

I excitedly skip to school every morning with new stories to tell my friends,

Of how my Mum’s chicken curry tastes like a rectangle with pointy ends.

I feel sorry for the children when they pine for my superpowers,

And pretend that they can taste sweets when looking at flowers.

This is a gift that I would definitely never wish away again,

For I wouldn’t be as happy with my life if I had a different brain.

Why did I ever want my life to be easier?

I am blessed with the little thing Psychologists call “Synaesthesia.”


By: Laura Hindley – @LauraHindley2

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